<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>On Rhythm and Blues by allintuta</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903266">On Rhythm and Blues</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allintuta/pseuds/allintuta'>allintuta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2021 we're writing the self-indulgent fics we want to see, Babyfic, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:35:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allintuta/pseuds/allintuta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With his new life on the Source, G’raha sets his sights on the future and all the possibilities it entails.</p><p>In which G’raha Tia anticipates fatherhood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bookclub Baby Fics!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Something I've been sitting on for a while but needed a little push to sit down and write. Thank you Quinn, Blue, and the bookclub for enabling this incredibly self-indulgent fic. &lt;3</p><p>Will post any content warnings and update tags as they come up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The garden that G’raha Tia has cultivated and nurtured over the course of a century blooms with the return of the night sky. </p><p>Like the Tower that gives the city its name, the people of the Crystarium are a bastion of hope in a world that preys upon its denizens' darkest impulses. The crowd that greets them at their journey’s end is not one that was left beaten and broken beneath the Light, but one that was always ready to welcome the dark back with open arms. </p><p>Though the Exarch’s arrival is met with calls for revelry, Lyna personally carves him a path to the infirmary. While many are eager to greet their leader with words of adulation, and to get a look at the face of the man who helped usher them towards peace and prosperity, they’re reluctant to cross the Captain’s path; least of all when she has her grandfather cradled in her arms.</p><p>He puts up a fuss the entire way, insisting that he can make the journey to Spagyrics on his own after braving the waters of the Tempest. Lyna is undeterred in her mission, and G’raha wisely accepts defeat. </p><p>A’lyhia sends him off with a promise that they’ll talk later, when the commotion has died down and his health has received Chessamile’s seal of approval.</p><p>She smuggles him a pint of Dwarven ale later that evening, risking the ire of the chirurgeons for the sake of giving him a taste of the festivities. </p><p>To A’lyhia’s surprise, she’s not the only one calling upon G’raha at that hour. </p><p>Three children are perched on and around his hospital bed, listening with a wide-eyed innocence as he recounts — with some omissions, and a rosier lens befitting a fairytale — the events that brought back the blessings of the night. </p><p>A’lyhia watches from the doorway. She wouldn’t dare to interrupt the moment, not when the young drahn girl is hanging on his every word, gasping and cheering at each twist and turn in the tale with a childlike sincerity that has yet to be tempered out of her. An elven boy, sitting primly atop a stool in a manner that reminds her fondly of Alphinaud, scrawls notes in a leather bound journal. His quill never stops moving the entire time G’raha is speaking, and A’lyhia would not be surprised to see the dutiful scribe’s works wind up in the Cabinet of Curiosity someday.</p><p>The mystel child curled up at the foot of G’raha’s bed can’t keep her hands off of his tail as she listens to the story unfold. G’raha, no longer confined by the cowl and the fate he had donned with it, has an energy to movements that belies his age and condition. His tail swishes with every sweeping gesture of his hands and twitch of his ears, and the mystel giggles each time it slips from her grasp and invites her to give chase once more. </p><p>It almost feels like A’lyhia’s intruded on something that no one was meant to see, a sanctified moment that cannot exist beyond the boundaries of these walls. For the first time, it hits her that G’raha has already taken on the role of parenthood, and has raised the admirable young woman tasked with protecting this microcosm of possibilities from an unforgiving world. </p><p>She wonders if Lyna is privy to this side of him, if the viis had spent her youth similarly enthralled by the tales of heroism that kept him tied to his home. </p><p>G’raha pauses mid-sentence when he catches sight of A’lyhia in the doorway. His ears wiggle and perk at the sight of her, betraying his excitement even as he attempts to rein in it.</p><p>“A’lyhia,” he greets her, “I apologize. I was so caught up in telling them about the Warrior of Darkness that I failed to realize she was right in front of me.”</p><p>Three pairs of awestruck eyes are on her instantly. A’lyhia lingers in the doorway, the pint in her hands momentarily forgotten.</p><p>“Take what he tells you with a grain of salt,” she says, dismissing his apology with a wave. “The narrator is biased.”</p><p>G’raha gives the back of his head a sheepish rub. Was this really the same man that had been so disciplined with his body language, each movement as carefully choreographed as the plan he conducted? </p><p>The change is endearing. A’lyhia considers taking a hearty swig of ale at the thought.</p><p>“Go on,” she says. “You have a captive audience, G’raha. Don’t disappoint them.”</p><p>His tail curls at the mention of his name. The mystel kit squeals with delight, her own tail mirroring the motions of it.</p><p>The scholar she had met in Silvertear had been a young man struggling to find himself in a world that had shown him little kindness. She has a feeling the G’raha before her now is much the same in that way: set adrift, searching for his purpose in a world that he hadn’t thought he would live to see.</p><p>As the children listen, enraptured by the story he crafts with all the care of someone accustomed to keeping legacies alive, A’lyhia can’t help but think how much fatherhood suits him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>Elidibus’ departure is unceremonious when compared to the theatrics of his predecessor. The two sundered souls watch him retreat in silence, knowing they can do naught but brace themselves for the move he will inevitably make.

</p><p>The Ascian’s leaden footsteps fade. In the wake of Elidibus’ assault, G’raha offers A’lyhia assurances that he is no less broken than he already was, and humbly requests that she indulge him in a plan that hinges on a little bit of recklessness and a lot of hope.</p><p>He suddenly feels small beneath the weight of her gaze. He struggles to find the bravado that had him insisting his condition is one to be worn with pride, and resigns himself to her judgment.</p><p>There’s a crease in her brow, a downward tug of her lips, and she expresses her concern in the way she knows best.</p><p>“You look like shite, G’raha.”</p><p>His tail fluffs up with indignation beneath his robes, but he knows he can’t argue with that assessment. His body grows more numb with each aetherial debt that is paid, and the bluntness of her speech is a welcome sting where the Tower would endeavor to rob him of all sensation. </p><p>“I suppose I do,” he admits. His weak attempt at laughter quickly peters out, taking any opportunity for levity with it. “Worry not, my friend. ‘Tis a small price to pay in the course of righting my wrongdoings.”</p><p>A’lyhia swallows what must be the beginnings of an argument. Instead, she offers him her arm; a gesture of intimacy between friends, he hopes, and not a crutch for him to lean on.</p><p>“You should get some fresh air before you shut yourself back in that tower. Walk with me?”</p><p>He loops his left arm through hers, savoring what little feeling he has left in it. “Please.”</p><p>They slowly descend the stairs of the overlook. Dusk is settling over the Crystarium, granting the city the illusion of calm despite the threat that so brazenly traipses through its streets. </p><p>G’raha supposes that Elidibus and Emet-Selch have that much in common. </p><p>“I’ve found the gardens to be quiet at this time of day,” A’lyhia says. “C’mon. I think we could both use a second to clear our heads.”</p><p>She gently shepherds him across the Rookery, past the rabble of the stables and hen houses, beyond the bustle of the Rotunda. They’re met with a few kindly greetings from passersby and the occasional concerned remark from someone astute enough to notice his progressing condition, but their journey to Sweetsieve is otherwise uneventful. </p><p>The minstrel is tucked away behind the grapevines, plucking idly at his lute as he scans the horizon for a little creative inspiration. His strumming is a welcome distraction, as each labored step only serves to remind G’raha of just how much his efforts have drained him. </p><p>They reach a bench that’s nestled between the lavender beds. A’lyhia goads him to sit with a, “Down you go, old man,” before settling down herself.</p><p>She grunts as she does so. It’s a remarkably unfeminine sound, but G’raha has come to regard such mannerisms fondly. </p><p>“...What?” she asks, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s staring at her with what is undoubtedly a dopey smile.</p><p>The polite thing to do would be to look away and apologize. G’raha, still nursing a blow to his (old) ego, does neither. </p><p>“Nothing,” he says airily, but his smirk is nothing if not provocative. “Why don’t you humor this old man and regale me with a story of your heroic exploits of the day?”</p><p>A’lyhia laughter is far less melodic than the tune the minstrel has started playing, but G’raha finds it charming all the same. </p><p>“A story to lull you to sleep, huh? Don’t tell me I’ve kept you out past your bedtime.”</p><p>G’raha’s tail brushes playful against hers. “Hurry now. This old man is practically on death’s door. Don’t let me leave this world wanting.”</p><p>She bumps his shoulder with her own. The threat in her words is undermined by the grin she can’t quite contain. “Don't even joke about that or I’ll finish the job myself. And I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I spent my morning picking grapes with the kids rather than slaying sin eaters.”</p><p>“Helping the good people of the Crystarium. Humbling work, for the Warrior of Darkness,” G’raha teases. </p><p>A’lyhia rummages around in her bag for something, stopping only to shoot him a pointed look. G’raha is completely unapologetic.</p><p>“Now I’m not so sure I want to share,” she sniffs. She produces a small sack that’s been cinched shut with a green ribbon and dangles it from her fingers, daring him to make a grab at it. “A pity.”</p><p>G’raha’s ears perk as he watches his quarry. “Shall I have that minstrel come over and sing your praises?”</p><p>She drops the sack into his open palm with a look of horror. G’raha purrs as he emerges victorious and carefully removes the ribbon to claim his prize.</p><p>“Picked these myself,” A’lyhia says. She plucks one of the grapes from the bunch and pops it into her mouth. “Better than any I’ve had on the Source.”</p><p>“High praise.” G’raha tries to recall the tastes he’d enjoyed back home, but finds such memories have grown increasingly stale after a century. </p><p>They sit in silence for a moment, savoring the sweetness of the harvest, the aroma of lavender. G’raha can hear the marketplace start to quiet down for the evening, peddlers packing up their wares and shoppers retiring to enjoy the night in the comfort of their loved ones. </p><p>“The ribbon was Riqi-Tio’s idea,” A’lyhia says.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“She was the cutest miq— mystel. Gods, I’ll never get used to that. Bushy little tail, still had her kit teeth.” A’lyhia leans back, directing her gaze upwards as she paints the image of this child that had captured her attention. “Big, bright eyes. More like a Keeper’s. I always was jealous of their eyes. Beautiful, aren’t they?”</p><p>G’raha hums noncommittally. He’d rather enjoy the feeling of her tail flirting with his than wax poetic about the uniqueness of Seeker eyes.</p><p>There would be plenty of time to do so later, should his plans bear fruit.</p><p>“She was the sweetest thing,” A’lyhia murmurs. There’s a softness to her features that G’raha has not been given many opportunities to see. “She wants to be a healer when she grows up. Kind of reminds me of me, when I was a kit.”</p><p>“You wanted to be a healer?” G’raha asks, sounding more incredulous than he’d intended. </p><p>A’lyhia grimaces. “Is it really that hard to believe?”</p><p>“No!” G’raha is quick to say. His tail thumps emphatically against the bench. “No, I— I just find it odd that, in all the stories passed on about you, none of them mentioned that.”</p><p>“Doesn’t really surprise me,” A’lyhia says. She drapes her arm over the back of the bench. Her hand is close enough that she could thread her fingers through his plait, should she so desire. “It didn’t work out, in case you were wondering. I’m about as useful as Thancred when it comes to magic. Just the first of many ways I would disappoint my mother.”</p><p>“Ah.” Falling short of expectations. A feeling G’raha was woefully familiar with in his own youth. “I’m sorry. The burdens placed on us by our parents are some of the hardest to bear.”</p><p>She shrugs. Her tail nudges his, and he eagerly accepts the invitation to twine them together. “At least I can feel confident saying I’ll be a better mom than she ever was. </p><p>G’raha’s lips curl into a mischievous smile. “This Riqi-Tio must have been really cute, if she has you thinking about motherhood.”</p><p>A’lyhia gives him a half-hearted shove. He laughs with all the carefree youth he hasn’t known since his awakening.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He finds her seated on the fountain outside of Atheneum Astrologicum, flanked by two teacups and a plate of pastries. G’raha briskly makes his way to her side, the sight of her in the early morning light and the scent of the freshly baked scones she bears equally enticing. </p>
<p>“Sorry I didn’t wake you,” A’lyhia says, greeting him with a smile that’s only slightly apologetic. “I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”</p>
<p>“For a moment there I thought you’d had your fill of taking me on adventures,” G’raha teases as he sits down beside her. When she offers him a scone he gratefully accepts it, right as his stomach grumbles in agreement. “Ah, apologies.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia pokes him in the belly. “Sounds like you need to eat as much as you need to sleep. You can’t rely on the Tower anymore, Raha. You gotta let yourself be human again.”</p>
<p>“I suppose I did come to see it as something of a crutch,” G’raha sheepishly yields. “Very well. I will strive to be better about attending to my needs. All I ask in return is that you allow me to continue accompanying you.”</p>
<p>“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way,” A’lyhia says, and G’raha has never felt more fortunate to have her as his guiding star. “Now eat. We have a long journey ahead of us.”</p>
<p>G’raha obliges before she decides to feed him herself. He helps himself to some of the clotted cream and generously spreads it on his scone as he says, “You still haven’t told me where we’re going next. Keeping it a mystery, are you?”</p>
<p>“Yep.” A’lyhia makes a face at her tea before dropping in another sugar cube. “I’ve got a score to settle, after all. It’s my turn to kidnap you.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” G’raha concedes, recalling with no shortage of embarrassment his fumbling attempts at summoning. Fifth time was the charm. “There is worse company I could be keeping. You’re quite generous for a kidnapper, I must say.”</p>
<p>He pops a piece of his scone in his mouth. It has a hint of maple to it, and he’s reminded of an old anecdote he’d read about the Lord Commander’s fondness for such sweets. </p>
<p>They enjoy their breakfast in a moment of comfortable silence. Gentle flurries of snow dance in a breeze that has their noses turning red and their hands reaching for the warmth of their cups. </p>
<p>The bustle of the distant Jeweled Crozier can be heard over the cascade of the fountain, and G’raha watches as a woman heavy with child putters towards them from that direction. She’s accompanied by an Elezen boy, both dressed in the modest attire of servants, and though he looks to be younger than Alphinaud he dutifully carries the bulk of their groceries. </p>
<p>They stop briefly when their path crosses that of a stablehand. The man and woman immediately engage in a conversation that looks far more amicable and lively than the tight lipped exchanges happening between the noblewomen milling about the plaza.</p>
<p>G’raha’s cheeks warm despite the nip of the cold as he watches the woman take the man’s hand and guide it to her belly. There’s a beat of calm before the man’s expression brightens, and G’raha can only guess that he must have felt the restless kick of her unborn child. </p>
<p>There’s a hug between them, one made awkward only by the prominence of her baby bump, before they part ways. G’raha watches the way the stablehand heads off in the direction of Foundation with a newfound liveliness to his step, and wonders what sort of story might exist between them.  </p>
<p>“Do you think that kid will have a good life?”</p>
<p>G’raha follows A’lyhia’s gaze. She’s watching the woman toddle towards Dzemael Manor with a faraway look, as if she’s directing that question at the spires of the Holy See itself.</p>
<p>He gives a noncommittal shrug but still can’t help but look at the situation with his usual optimism, especially after what he had just witnessed. “I would like to think so. She seemed excited for motherhood. Loving a child before you’ve even had the chance to meet them — it bodes well, wouldn’t you say?”</p>
<p>A’lyhia exhales. Her breath is a flurry seeping from her chapped lips. “I suppose, though I was referring more to the father. A lot of bastard kids in Ishgard grow up without one.”</p>
<p>“The Church’s influence, I presume,” G’raha muses. “I imagine the transition towards secularism would help. Under Ser Aymeric’s guidance, no less.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” A’lyhia smiles at the mention of the Lord Speaker, making G’raha all the more eager to meet the man that could inspire such fondness in her. “He’s a good man. One of the best. A lot of Ishgard’s finest are bastards. Aymeric. Haurchefant.” Her voice catches on the name; an almost imperceptible hiccup before she soldiers on with an expression he would undoubtedly say suits a hero. “Estinien.”</p>
<p>G’raha pauses, his tea cup poised at his lips. “The Azure Dragoon? Really? I don’t recall ever reading that about him.”</p>
<p>“No, he’s not an illegitimate child. He’s just an arsehole.” </p>
<p>“Oh. I see.”</p>
<p>She snickers as she brings a piece of her scone to her lips, but stops when she catches sight of three young Elezen observing them nearby. They look to just be coming into adolescence, but are still garbed in elegant attire that attests to their noble upbringing. The feathers on their hats bob as they huddle together, whispering behind gloved hands and with catty smiles that will serve them well in adulthood.</p>
<p>“It’s hard to imagine they see a lot of Miqo’te around here,” G’raha muses as the group of young nobles is quickly ushered away by a disgruntled-looking nanny. “We stick out a little, don’t we?”</p>
<p>“I got a lot of weird looks when I first showed up here.” A’lyhia’s voice goes quieter as she recounts those early days in Ishgard, when the weight of regicide and the presumed deaths of the Scions had haunted each step she took on these snow-laden streets. “Things have gotten better since then. Ending the war, joining the Alliance and all. But it’s hard not to feel out of place.”</p>
<p>She sets her scone aside, her appetite understandably ruined after being stared at so brazenly. “Ishgardians are all so prim and proper. And stuffy.” </p>
<p>Her nose crinkles, and it’s not hard to imagine that she’s had an unfavorable run in or two with the members of high society. Count Fortemps and Aymeric’s good graces can only do so much to make up for her usual disregard for social decorum, G’raha supposes. </p>
<p>“Seeker customs must seem odd to them,” he says. He studies his reflection in his tea, and is captivated by the distinct vertical slits of his pupils. </p>
<p>A’lyhia snorts. “Gods, they must think we’re crazy. I can just see the way they’d clutch their pearls over the concept of a nunh.”</p>
<p>She leans back, tilting her face upwards to feel the gentle brush of the early morning snowfall. A few flakes catch on her lashes, and G’raha can’t help but be entranced by the sight. </p>
<p>“Did you ever want to be a nunh?” she asks suddenly. </p>
<p>G’raha sets down his teacup and clears his throat; an attempt at remaining composed that falls apart as soon as he starts fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. </p>
<p>“Not particularly,” he says, and he knows from the way her tail rubs playfully against his thigh that she notices the way his voice catches. “I never really saw the appeal — not in having children, mind you, but in the role itself. I couldn’t have been much of an adventurer if I’d stayed with the tribe.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” She turns her head to look at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher. Her face is dappled with droplets where the snow is melting, and he watches one drip down from the point of her nose. </p>
<p>An image rises unbidden to his mind of that same nose on a kit: one with rosy cheeks and tufts of red hair, his freckles faintly dusted across its olive skin.</p>
<p>He shakes himself from such musings and fetches his teacup to hide behind it. </p>
<p>“I’m going to tell you something that no one outside my tribe knows,” she says, mercifully choosing not to comment on his sudden silence. “Something that you’re not going to repeat to any of the other Scions.”</p>
<p>G’raha’s ears immediately perk, undermining any attempt he’d planned on making to not appear overly-invested in the thought of being trusted in such a way. She laughs at his expense — not that he can blame her — and he brings a hand to his chest in a gesture of sincerity. </p>
<p>“I promise that this stays between us.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia’s voice drops low, conspiratorial, as she leans in to divulge her secret. </p>
<p>“When I was a kit, <em>I</em> wanted to be a nunh.”</p>
<p>There’s a moment of dumbfounded silence as G’raha processes this allegedly forbidden knowledge that, truthfully, does not come as any sort of surprise.</p>
<p>He tells her such, to which she indignantly fluffs up her tail. </p>
<p>“It’s very in character for you, that’s all,” G’raha explains, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “And how was this aspiration of yours received?”</p>
<p>She grimaces at the thought. “Mother was thrilled, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s honestly a wonder that she was surprised to find me kissing a girl.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” G’raha murmurs. His fingers brush against hers on the cold stone of the fountain. A few days ago he would have only quietly entertained the thought of lacing their fingers together; today, he finds the courage to clasp her hand with his own. “I hate to bring up a painful memory.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia shrugs. “Her approval doesn’t exactly matter to me anymore. And at the end of the day, what does it matter if I can’t be a nunh?” She gives him a sly look that has his pulse quickening. “I don’t need a harem to keep me satisfied when I have you.”</p>
<p>G’raha chokes on his tea while she erupts into boisterous laughter. He retaliates by giving her shoulder a bump with his own — a mistake that ends in tragedy when it knocks her off balance and sends her tumbling into the fountain with him in tow.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>Night has descended upon Kugane by the time they disembark from their ship, and G’raha looks on in awe of the brilliance that the darkness brings.

</p>
<p>A’lyhia supposes that spending a century beneath an oppressive blanket of Light has given him a newfound appreciation for the night. She takes a moment to find her equilibrium now that they’re on solid ground once more before she basks in it herself.</p>
<p>“Looks like sightseeing will have to wait until tomorrow,” she says, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder as they begin the long walk down the length of the pier. </p>
<p>Her stomach is still a little queasy after their somewhat tumultuous journey, and she knows she must look a little pale given the way that G’raha doesn’t object to a quiet night at the inn to rest and recover. </p>
<p>“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” she promises him, grateful for the way he drapes his arm around his waist to give her some stability. “The nightlife in Kugane is something else. Eorzea could learn a thing or two.”</p>
<p>G’raha’s eyes widen with innocent wonder as he takes in the paper lanterns and other decor that guide their path towards the Bokairo Inn. “I look forward to it. But you should know better than to think I would view time spent with you as anything less than a gift.”</p>
<p>He looks at her with such unabashed adoration that she has to avert her gaze; like a coquettish maiden experiencing her first courtship, she thinks, and wonders what her younger self would have to say about her acting in such a way.</p>
<p>Their trip to the inn is pleasantly uneventful, with no need for subterfuge or the charity of a fortuitously friendly Koijin. There’s just G’raha’s animated chatter as he takes in the lights and the distant beat of drums to accompany traditional Hingashi dances.</p>
<p>G’raha pauses on the threshold of the inn, his ears perked in the direction of the adjacent onsen. The steam rising from the springs beckons to them, but A’lyhia tugs him inside with a wink.</p>
<p>“I can do one better.”</p>
<p>She stands on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, and the way her fingers skin along his bicep is somehow naughtier than the implication of her words.</p>
<p>“Ever had a suite with a private outdoor bath?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>She marvels at how easy it is to bare herself to him, to strip away the layers that define her as something greater and leave him with nothing but her raw self at the center of it all.

</p>
<p>His hands are gentle as they rub circles into her skin, washing away the impurities of the day before she does the same with his hair. Her fingers thread through the silken strands of his plait, leaving a curtain of scarlet against his shoulders.</p>
<p>“You ever been in one of these?” she asks as she eases herself into the bath. </p>
<p>He tentatively sticks a foot in and recoils at the heat, much to her amusement. His tail bristles and his lips shape into a pout that has her feeling nostalgic for their days in Silvertear, before he sucks in a breath and sinks gracelessly into the water. </p>
<p>“I take that as a no,” A’lyhia says, giving him a playful splash that has his ears flattening against his head. “It’s ok. I hadn’t either, until the first time I came here.”</p>
<p>G’raha closes his eyes as he gradually relaxes, and it’s possibly the most content she’s ever seen him. “I’m starting to see the appeal.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia shamelessly observes him, her eyes lingering on his exposed neck and the tattoos that signify his accomplishments as an Archon. </p>
<p>It’s as she’s imagining running her tongue along the linework that he catches her staring. The water around him stirs with the restless swishing of his tail. </p>
<p>“Is something wrong?” he asks, and it never ceases to amaze her how someone who has borne the weight of Allag’s legacy and the fate of entire worlds can look so unsure of himself.</p>
<p>“No,” she says, easing his tail with the weight of her own. “I think I just might love you, G’raha Tia.”</p>
<p>It’s said partly in jest, of course — they’re both still basking in the afterglow of confessions shared in the sanctity of night, the consummation of a relationship that took a literal calamity to bear fruit — but there’s an undeniable sincerity to her remark as well. They’re the musings of a young woman still savoring her first taste of love, and growing all the more insatiable with each passing moment spent together. </p>
<p>His blush could almost be mistaken for the warmth of the bath and the healthy color it brings to his pallor, but she’s quickly become privy to his habit of buckling beneath the praise he doesn’t think he deserves.</p>
<p>“I just find it remarkable,” G’raha quietly admits, “that with all the brilliance on this star, you would find my affections worthy of returning.”</p>
<p>“You happen to be quite remarkable yourself,” A’lyhia assures him. She glides through the water, closing what little space remains between them. “And I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it to believe it.”</p>
<p>G’raha sucks in a breath when A’lyhia slides into his lap. His hands come to rest on her hips, and though there’s an uncertainty to the way he touches her, she knows he’ll grow more confident with time. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he murmurs. </p>
<p>She chuckles, bringing her lips just shy of his neck. “For giving you the credit you’re so keen on denying yourself?”</p>
<p>“For bringing me on this adventure with you,” he says. His eyes flutter shut as she trails kisses along his jaw, slowly working her way down towards his Archon marks. “For allowing me to be a part of your story, even after everything I’ve done.”</p>
<p>“Enough of that,” she chides him. She eases his hand off her hip, brings it to her mouth to dote upon each knuckle, before guiding it to her breast. “The only reason I have a future is because of you. Of course I want you to be a part of it.”</p>
<p>His eyes start to water — a habit that he’s carried with him back across the Rift, an emotional honesty that she is endlessly endeared to — and instead of stubbornly wiping away his tears he lets them fall freely as he captures her lips with his own.</p>
<p>When she pulls back to catch her breath he focuses his affections elsewhere, running his tongue along the fading love bites on her chest in an unspoken promise to leave even more. </p>
<p>As he slips inside of her she wonders what it would be like to let him mark her properly. She would bear his brand with pride, would cherish the reminder that he had known her in the most intimate way; more so than sex, or the sweet nothings they shared in the afterglow. In the language of Miqo’te, there is no greater expression of devotion than the bite of a lover. </p>
<p>She dabs away his tears with her thumb as he makes love to her. Each synchronous movement of their bodies is accompanied by words of adulation that tumble freely from his lips, and she knows then that there is no one else she would rather live to see the future with.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Estinien found dead in Miami.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sexual content in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of the hut reminds her of home: palm fronds and sandalwood, the incense that her mother would burn as she would lull her to sleep with soothing melodies and heartwarming tales of a future they weren’t sure she would see.</p><p>A fire crackles in the pit, casting shadows that beckon to her like a long lost friend. She remembers how much time she spent hiding in them in her youth, tucked away from a world that seemed so frightening to a little girl with a weak heart. </p><p>She’s not alone, as she had initially thought. Her company chooses not to announce himself with the pleasantries a stranger might. A pair of lips is brought to the nape of her neck and languidly maps out her skin with the familiarity of a lover. His nose brushes against the point of her pulse and it’s then that catches his scent mingled with the fragrances of her childhood; a smell that she is quickly learning to associate with a comfort her real home could never afford her. </p><p>His hands come to rest on her hips, coaxing her back against his bare chest. It’s when she feels his prick pressed against her that she realizes they’re both naked, exposed and at the mercy of her mother or whoever else in her tribe might come bursting through the door.</p><p>“Let them see,” her murmurs in her ear, assuaging the fear she can’t bring herself to speak.</p><p>There’s a thrill to the idea that she can’t deny. She shivers as his hands roam over her breasts, all while he whispers a litany of filthy promises that have her blushing like the maiden she would never grow up to be.</p><p>“Present yourself to me,” he commands, and she is too far gone beneath the heat of his gaze and the selfishness of his hands to challenge his authority.</p><p>She drops down and brings her naked chest to the floor, ass raised and tail curled up against her back in invitation. There’s no need to spare a glance over her shoulder, not when the weight of him on and around her makes her feel safe in a way no man but Raha could.</p><p>“Good girl,” he purrs, and she catches a hint of the Miqo’te accent that had faded during his years spent on the First. “Have you ever had a nunh before?”</p><p>He knows the answer already, given the barren skin of her neck that has yet to be marred by the bite of a nunh. She’s tempted to play it coy, and not give him the satisfaction of hearing it from her own lips; but his pheromones are intoxicating, and leave her capable of nothing more than clutching at the rug as she responds with a meek, “No.”</p><p>G’raha nips her between the shoulder blades in a taste of what’s to come as he teases her cunt with the tip of his cock. </p><p>“It’s an honor to be your first.” His voice is hot and heavy against her ear, a point of clarity to grasp onto through the haze of her heat. “To fill you with my kits when no one else has.”</p><p>His fingertips skim along her stomach, willing her to imagine what it will be like to be round with his child, to let the world know that he alone had claimed the Warrior of Light.</p><p>She tries to rock back against him, to urge him to take what she would never trust with another man. </p><p>“Please, Raha…”</p><p>“Lyhia?”</p><p>He slides in an ilm, her heat making them fit together in ways that have her shredding the rug with her nails. She wails when he stops, too far gone to care about her pride when his cock is <em>right there,</em> when she can feel his wicked intent with each beat of his pulse. </p><p>The weight of him shifts as he leans forward, his teeth grazing that particular spot on her neck in an unspoken threat to make her come completely undone.</p><p>And she nearly does, her body quivering beneath his as he slowly fills her, all the while his hands continue to run along the flat of her stomach with equal parts reverence and desire to defile.</p><p>“Lyhia!”</p><p>She startles awake, ripped from her dream by G’raha’s — the real G’raha’s — voice. He’s looming over her, a hand on her shoulder where he had tried to shake her from her stupor. It’s only then, staring up at his knit brow and the worried line of his lips, that she registers it was not in fact a full body orgasm that had made her tremble.</p><p>Said orgasm starts to flicker and fade before it can grant her the release it had been crescendoing towards. She could almost let out an agonized yell as that taste of pleasure slips through her fingers; and her frustration must be evident in the way she clutches at the sheets, given the way an apology springs to G’raha’s lips. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he’s quick to say. He gives her shoulder a parting squeeze before sitting back on his heels, giving her the space to collect herself. “You, um, kept slapping me in the face with your tail and muttering to yourself. I thought you were having a nightmare.”</p><p>“Oh.” A’lyhia swallows. She realizes, with no shortage of embarrassment, that she has a pillow wedged between her thighs, and must have been rutting against it with enthusiasm. Her only saving grace is that she hadn’t done the same to Raha, blissfully ignorant to the fantasy that had played out so vividly in her mind. “What, uh — what was I saying?”</p><p>G’raha cocks his head. His pupils slowly constrict as he starts to relax, but he still looks coiled and ready to spring as if she’ll suddenly start thrashing again. </p><p>“Nothing I could make out,” he says. “Are you alright? Would you like to talk about it?”</p><p>Her shoulders sink back against the sheets. Good. He hadn’t heard her begging for him to fuck and fill her with —</p><p>The warmth in her belly returns with a vengeance. She kicks away the pillow before she can further do anything untoward to it as she begrudgingly accepts that her arousal won’t go away until she does something about it. </p><p>A’lyhia lets out a deep breath. “It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a wet dream.” She tilts her head to regard him with a wry smile. “And I hate to say it but I was right about to get my happy ending.”</p><p>His ears stand at attention, and his lips part to reveal a glimpse of those teeth that she can still imagine at her neck. </p><p>“O-Oh.” His hands curls against his thighs as his tail, forever betraying his emotions with its brutal honesty, sways behind him. “Can I — would you, um…”</p><p>She peers up at him through hooded lids and can’t help but laugh at how he manages to look so eager yet sound so unsure of himself at the same time. </p><p>“You don’t have to, Raha. Not after the horrors you just witnessed. Two hands and good imagination, remember?”</p><p>He flushes as he undoubtedly recalls that conversation in Silvertear, but it doesn’t deter him. “I want to! I-If you’ll have me, that is.”</p><p>Her fingers still where they had been playing with the edge of her pantalettes, and she lets out a sigh that does a poor job of hiding just how much she likes his proposition. “Well, if you <em>insist.</em>”</p><p>She spreads her legs and beckons him over with a flick of her tail, but instead of crawling over her he lays down between her thighs and brings his blushing face just shy of her sex.</p><p>A’lyhia props herself up on her elbows so she can get a look at him, torn between disbelief and anticipation.</p><p>“You want to—“</p><p>“If you’ll have me,” G’raha repeats, placing a kiss upon her hand. “I would love nothing more than to try.”</p><p>That this man would willingly offer himself up to her in such a way when none that had come before him would have entertained the thought… Her words catch in her throat, and she can do nothing more than give a fervent nod.</p><p>“Thank you,” G’raha says, because of course he would view the opportunity to go down on someone as a gift. </p><p>She would be endeared by it if she weren’t so caught off guard by the very notion. </p><p>He’s timid, understandably so, and starts slowly. He nuzzles her thigh, taking a moment to commit the taste and feel of her skin to memory, working his way up with each press of his lips.</p><p>It’s when he gets to her pantalettes that he hesitates. Then, in what she assumes is an effort to buy himself the time to work up his courage, he asks, “What did you dream about? If you don’t mind me asking.”</p><p>“Um...” </p><p>A’lyhia reclines back, unable to meet his gaze as she recalls the image of him that her mind had conjured up. She couldn’t see him in her dream beyond the calloused hands that would bring her to ruin, or know more than the voice murmuring salacious words into her ear, but there had been no mistaking that it was him; her Raha, only far more confident and domineering in matters most carnal. </p><p>“Lyhia?”</p><p>“Nothing that interesting,” she replies dismissively, failing to sound convincing in the slightest. “Just — just some of what happened last night.”</p><p>She can’t bring herself to repeat what her vision of him had said, nor recount how eager she had been to present herself at his feet, to beg for him to mount and <em>claim</em> her.</p><p>The thought has gooseflesh rising on her skin. Fortunately he doesn’t seem to notice, and he gives her inner thigh a playful nip.</p><p>“Making love in a hot spring is dull to you, I see,” he teases.</p><p>The tips of her ears burn red as his fingers hook into her smalls and begin to pull them down. “I didn’t mean it like that.”</p><p>“I know,” he assures her. “And you don’t have to tell me. You can’t fault for me trying, though.”</p><p>She’s tense as she waits for him to move things along, and though he’s still very much one to take these things at his own unsteady pace, she starts to feel self-conscious during the prolonged silence.</p><p>“Raha? Did you change your mind?”</p><p>His head pokes up sheepishly from between her legs. “No! No, that’s not it. I believe your, um, your smalls are caught on your tail.”</p><p>The tail in question curls in on itself as A’lyhia mentally berates herself for forgetting that detail. “Right. Sorry, let me…”</p><p>She raises her hips as she fiddles with the fabric around the base of her tail. The buttonhole stubbornly evades her fumbling fingers, and she lets out a frustrated grunt before finally managing to coax it undone.</p><p>“There,” she says triumphantly. </p><p>The sheets might as well be threadbare where he had been worrying them with his hands as he waited. G’raha seems grateful for the chance to resume before both of their anxieties can get the best of them.</p><p>Her orgasm has long since faded in this awkward interlude since she was awoken from her dream, but she won’t deny him the opportunity to try something new when his confidence is still a work in progress. </p><p>“Is this ok?” G’raha asks, easing her legs back apart. </p><p>A’lyhia brings a hand near her mouth, and worries the skin of her knuckle with her teeth. “Yes. Keep going.”</p><p>He doesn’t sound convinced. G’raha makes his way up her body and rests his chin on her chest, urging her to look at him with the gentle guidance of his hand on her cheek.</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to push you into something you’re not comfortable with. Hydaelyn knows you’ve been nothing but patient with me.” His lips curl, undoubtedly in remembrance of that first night they’d spent together, when matters of intimacy had been frighteningly new yet all the more exhilarating because of it. “You can tell me no, Lyhia.”</p><p>She only briefly meets his gaze, knowing she won’t be able to stem the tide welling up in her eyes if she lingers on the unabashed love and acceptance to be found there.</p><p>“No one else has ever wanted to,” she quietly admits, feeling a resurgence of an old shame in her chest that she had never quite been able to bury. “But I want you to, Raha.”</p><p>G’raha gives a resolute nod before descending his way down her body, peppering kisses along her belly, smiling impishly when he hits a ticklish spot that has her quivering. </p><p>“Brat,” A’lyhia chides. It’s a toothless defense against the man that has her hips pinned beneath his hands and his face only ilms from her cunt.</p><p>“Forgive me. My fumbling attempts at bringing you pleasure have a way of reminding me that I’m a young man again.”</p><p>A’lyhia laughs, feeling virginal herself as he brings his lips to her. “Little shite.”</p><p>“You’re going to need new insults, Lyhia. That one is wearing thin.”</p><p>She’s half-tempted to clamp her thighs around his head in the only form of retaliation she has at her disposal, but she can’t even bring herself to do that when each timid swipe of his tongue has her sinking further into the futon.</p><p>He parts her folds, tasting the slick that was a remnant of her dream and a reminder of the release that she had yet to have. She’s past the point of feeling embarrassed about it, and tries to cant her hips to encourage him further, to urge him to do more than tease with featherlight touches.</p><p>“Harder…”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“More, Raha,” she insists. “You don’t have to be so gentle.”</p><p>His ears twitch with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”</p><p>She tangles her fingers in his hair to give her some semblance of control. “If it can handle your prick it can handle anything that your mouth can do to it.”</p><p>G’raha makes a strangled noise between her thighs. She can’t tell if it was an aborted laugh or prayer for her damned soul. Either way, he seems more than willing and eager to comply.</p><p>He tastes her with a newfound vigor, grabbing her ass to pull her close as he dips his tongue inside her. It’s not the same as his fingers, which have only grown more assured with each time they’ve come together like this, but the fervor that he tastes her with is rewarding in its own way.</p><p>Her body starts to feel heavy. She could easily be lulled to sleep like this, shepherded to slumber by each careful swipe of his tongue. But she knows that they both desire something more ambitious, and so she gives his red locks a soft tug.</p><p>“Go north,” she says.</p><p>He pulls back enough to let her get a glimpse of her on his lips. “Pardon?”</p><p>The innocence in his expression and inquiry is so dissonant with his debauched face that she’s hardly coherent between peals of laughter. </p><p>“The clit, Raha, the clit!”</p><p>His ears go ramrod straight as if struck by an epiphany. “Oh! Right, the uh — the ‘best friend.’ Right.”</p><p>She snorts as he echoes her guidance from that first night together, when they’d blurred the lines between friendship and something more with quiet confessions and clumsy touches. </p><p>Her arousal fades, but she finds the laughter that takes its place to be more rewarding. He accepts defeat with grace, settling down beside her with a smile and an ardent promise to do better next time. </p><p>“We really are a godsdamn mess, aren’t we,” she says, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. </p><p>He bumps her cheek playfully with his nose. “An absolute travesty that I’m eternally grateful to be a part of.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>The aetheryte plaza is abuzz with activity by the time they emerge from the inn, bumping shoulders and exchanging mischievous glances as they weave through the crowds.

</p><p>G’raha finds his gaze lingering on her hand more than once. As she animatedly gestures at the sights around them, a thought springs to mind that feels unusually intimate, even with everything they’ve already bared to each other: taking her hand in his own, proudly putting the nature of their relationship on display; a far cry from the quiet gesture they’d shared at the fountain, which had been a milestone in itself. They would boldly walk through a city that had only even known her as a title and the accolades that came with it, not as Scions but as their imperfect selves.</p><p>He must not have been as subtle in his musings as he had thought. A’lyhia pauses, giving the sleeve of his yukata a tug to keep him from bumping into an unsuspecting Hyur.</p><p>“Everything ok?” she asks. </p><p>“Yes,” G’raha replies, more terse than he had intended but he can’t quite focus when she’s suddenly close enough that he can catch the faint smell of miso on her breath. “Forgive me, I was simply wondering if you would like to, um…”</p><p>Words have a way of failing him when he needs them most, so instead he brushes her hand with his own and gives her knuckles a chaste rub with his thumb. </p><p>A’lyhia gives him an amused look. “You had your face between my legs this morning, Raha. You don’t have to be coy about wanting to hold my hand.”</p><p>“Lyhia!” </p><p>He can’t help the scandalized gasp that escapes him, nor the way his tail fluffs up as he frantically looks around for any cues that they had been overheard. Fortunately, the crowd seems thoroughly enraptured by a pair of performers putting on a show by the Umineko Tea House.</p><p>She takes his hand and gives it an apologetic squeeze before tugging him in the direction of the gardens.</p><p>“There’s something I want to show you.”</p><p>G’raha tries not to trip over his own feet as he allows himself to be pulled along. For a moment his world narrows down to a single point, and he knows nothing but the warmth of her skin on his Spoken hand.</p><p>He recalls one of the last times they had held hands, when he had been entrusting her with his spirit vessel. His fingers, crystallized and necrotic as the Tower prepared to collect its final debt, couldn’t feel the way she had trembled before accepting his request. She had resolved to take him on her next adventure, and as he finds that promise fulfilled he wonders how he had come to be so blessed in a world that had once been so cold.</p><p>They were outcast children of mismatched eyes and a fragile heart, but he feels her pulse and knows that he’s finally found a home. </p><p>“Here.”</p><p>She extends a colored slip of paper and a brush towards him. G’raha blinks, only then registering the bamboo that has been covered with similar slips, each one hanging down like a star ready to be plucked from the heavens.</p><p>“What’s this?” he asks, entranced by the way the myriad colors dance lightly in the sea breeze. </p><p>“A wishing tree,” A’lyhia says. She scrawls something on her own paper that he can’t quite see; by design, given the stern look she shoots him. “You write down a wish and tie it up and no, I’m not telling you what mine is or it won’t come true.”</p><p>G’raha smiles as he fiddles with the string and considers the blank canvas at his fingertips. “I didn’t take you for the superstitious type. You surprise me everyday, Lyhia.”</p><p>She doesn’t rise to the provocation as she ties up her wish, hiding it amongst a thicket of yellows and pinks and blues to keep it from his prying eyes.</p><p>“I’ll admit, I’m finding it hard to think of something,” G’raha murmurs. “I don’t feel like I’m in the position to ask for more when I’ve already been given more than I deserve.”</p><p>“Well,” A’lyhia says, leaning in to fix one of his hairpins, “this is a new chapter in your life, Raha. You spent the last one living for the sake of others. Now you get to live how <em>you</em> want.”</p><p>She smooths down his bangs and admires her handiwork with a satisfied grin. “Go wild. You’ve earned it.”</p><p>It feels oddly momentous as he dips the brush in ink and brings it to his paper. He puts extra care into each stroke, imbuing the parchment with prayers he had not thought worthy of being spoken when there were much greater things on the line.</p><p>But they’re alive, hale and whole, and so he allows himself the indulgence of a little selfishness.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <em>Happiness for a woman who doubted she would ever know it, and many fruitful years at her side for a man who would help her find it.</em>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drake?<br/>Josh?<br/>Where's the baby?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Special thank you to Quinn for helping me with this chapter!</p>
<p>I intend for this fic to be light and fluffy but just a word of caution that this chapter does touch on the topics of unplanned pregnancy and difficulties with fertility. Please take care.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neither the stories he had read nor those that A’lyhia had told could have prepared him for the majesty of the Azim Steppe.</p>
<p>The quiet paddies and vibrant valleys of Yanxia had been breathtaking in their own right, a true testament to mankind’s ability to persevere in the face of cruelty. The winds had carried on them the faint scent of persimmons rather than the gunpowder that was synonymous with Garlean occupation, and the flooded ruins of Doma Castle had been a beacon of hope in their own right: a reminder not so much of what had been lost, but of everything that they had to gain in the wake of its sacrifice.</p>
<p>Yet despite everything that G’raha has already witnessed, he finds himself rendered speechless when they take their first steps onto the sprawling plains of the steppe. The earth itself seems to sing with the blood of fallen Xaela, nourished and eager to support a fresh crop of combatants as it has for generations; perhaps a grim legacy to some, but a proud tradition to a nation of stalwart warriors. </p>
<p>“It’s brilliant,” is all G’raha can bring himself to say. </p>
<p>The Dawn Throne stands proudly on the horizon, ready to welcome home those who would seek glory, and G’raha is humbled by its presence. </p>
<p>“The steppe itself is impressive, sure,” A’lyhia concedes, “but it’s the people that really make it special.”</p>
<p>She takes G’raha’s hand without hesitation. He finds himself envying how easily displays of affection already come to her in this burgeoning relationship as she leads him in the direction of a nearby settlement. </p>
<p>An aetheryte, entirely unique in its architecture from those in Eorzea on Norvrandt, stands as a sentinel that guides weary travelers towards the sanctuary that Reunion provides. As the pair traverses the grasslands hand-in-hand, G’raha can hear the distant roar of beasts and the battle cries of the hunters pursuing them. His ears perk when he hears an unfamiliar gait, and in the distance he can spot a group of Xaela mounted on odd, mammalian creatures.</p>
<p>“They’re called ‘horses,’” A’lyhia explains, following his gaze in the direction of the curious-looking animals. “A little different from chocobos and amaro, wouldn’t you say?”</p>
<p>“Incredible,” G’raha says, awestruck as he observes the way the Xaela dominate the land atop their steeds. Though their mounts don’t appear to possess flight, the power inherent in each galloping stride far surpasses what a chocobo would be capable of. “Have you ever ridden one?”</p>
<p>“I have, actually,” A’lyhia says, standing a little bit taller. She always seems to take pride in having worldly experience that he doesn’t, and shares her knowledge with no shortage of enthusiasm. “Back when I came here to visit my friend — Curious Gorge, I’ve told you about him, right?”</p>
<p>G’raha nods. “Your mentor. A Galdjent fellow, wasn’t he?”</p>
<p>“Your Exarch is showing,” A’lyhia teases. “But yes. He’s a big man with a big heart, just, y’know.” She points to her eyes. “The whole ‘warrior’ thing. It put him out of commission for a while. But then he came all the way here to try and win Dorgono’s love and what do you know, she was into it.”</p>
<p>“Dorgono? Wasn’t she the Auri woman that you had…” G’raha gestures vaguely with his free hand as he tries to articulate his thoughts in an appropriate way. “<em>Intimate relations</em> with?”</p>
<p>A’lyhia’s laughter carries on the gentle breeze. “Why yes, Grandpa, I did have <em>intimate relations</em> with her. Just the one time, though. I backed off once I learned Curious Gorge had it bad for her. Oh, and speaking of horses, did you know that her dad offered me thirty of them as a dowry?”</p>
<p>G’raha’s eyes go wide, but much to his surprise she doesn’t appear to be speaking in jest. “I imagine Tataru would have had something to say about that. I do not envy anyone who crosses her.”</p>
<p>“Nor I,” A’lyhia agrees, and there’s something almost haunted in her expression as she surely recalls the fate of some unfortunate soul who had fallen victim to the Lalafell. “So no, I did not get my horses, nor did I get Dorgono’s hand in marriage. But I <em>did</em> get to show her a good time.”</p>
<p>G’raha blushes as they approach the gates of Reunion. “As shameless as ever, I see.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia shrugs, shameless. “Well, if you ever needed proof that I was a man in my past life, there you have it.”</p>
<p>They arrive at the marketplace proper to find it brimming with activity, as G’raha would expect from the steppe’s center of trade. Stalls displaying various wood and leather goods are lined up in neat rows, while the aroma of a culinarian’s cooking entices potential buyers closer. Children weave deftly through the throngs of shoppers as they engage in a spirited game of tag, while livestock graze in a corral off to the side, oblivious to the commotion and content in their ignorance. </p>
<p>A’lyhia suddenly tugs him in the direction of the animals, offering no explanation other than a, “Look!”</p>
<p>As he dutifully allows himself to be pulled along, he catches sight of what must have captivated her in a settlement full of marvels: a stallion, much like those they had seen the hunters riding.</p>
<p>“They really are beautiful, aren’t they?” G’raha murmurs. He brings himself up against the fence as he examines the horse in wonder. “It’s a shame that we don’t see these in Eorzea.”</p>
<p>“Don’t say that in front of Whiskey,” A’lyhia says, extending a hand so that she can run her fingers through the horse’s forelock while it idly munches on some hay. “You’ll break his heart.”</p>
<p>“It’s not much of a loss on his end. He doesn’t seem to like me that much to begin with.” G’raha laughs sheepishly as he remembers the cold greeting the bird had given him. “Do you think some gysahl greens will help me curry favor with him?”</p>
<p>“Trying to buy his love, I see,” A’lyhia drawls. “If you want to make an honest effort, sylkis buds are the way to go. But I wouldn’t exactly hold your breath. Whiskey’s a misandrist.”</p>
<p>She says it with such confidence that for a brief moment G’raha almost doesn’t question it. “Pardon, your <em>chocobo</em> hates men?”</p>
<p>“Thancred most of all,” A’lyhia says with a snicker. “He takes after me well.”</p>
<p>He’s about to question what their resident gunbreaker has done to inspire such hostility from her chocobo, but he finds his attention drawn to a procession of men clad in bright yellow garments. </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long to see why they have come in such great numbers. The quarry that they come bearing is a mammoth, and an absolute behemoth of one at that. G’raha can only watch in awe as they parade the beast through the marketplace; to intimidate as well as entice potential traders, G’raha assumes, given what little he knows about the battle-steeped culture of the steppe. </p>
<p>“Speaking of misandry,” A’lyhia mutters, looking far less impressed than the merchants and market goers. “The Oronir. An insufferable bunch led by the biggest twat this side of the Ruby Sea.”</p>
<p>G’raha prays that no one heard her colorful remark, least of all the members of the clearly formidable tribe that is the object of her disdain. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” she says, taking his hand with equal parts apology and intention to shepherd him out of there. “I think we’d better head for Mol Iloh. We’ll hit up the market later, I promise.”</p>
<p>She’s clearly hoping for a quiet exit, but such hopes are quickly dashed. Their escape route is blocked when the last member of the hunt train emerges through the gates, walking with a swagger that G’raha can only assume belongs to Magnai, leader of the Oronir.</p>
<p>A’lyhia swears under her breath as they nearly avoid colliding with him, and with a resigned sigh she lets go of G’raha’s hand and begrudgingly meets the gaze of the man she loathes.</p>
<p>“Khagan.” Magnai’s greeting is terse, hardly what G’raha would expect from a former comrade in arms. “What brings you back to the steppe?”</p>
<p>G’raha only has a vague familiarity with the term. He would assume that it’s meant to confer respect, but while Magnai is not outright rude there is something almost insubordinate about the way that he brings himself to his full height to tower above them. </p>
<p>Intimidation really does seem to be the Oronir’s tactic of choice. G’raha knows that A’lyhia is not quick to bow her head to brutish men, and watches with trepidation as the two square up against each other. </p>
<p>“Visiting an old friend,” is A’lyhia’s equally brusque response. </p>
<p>There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, during which Magnai turns his attention to G’raha. His cold countenance is difficult to get a read on, and G’raha resists the urge to look away as he’s scrutinized by the warrior. </p>
<p>The Xaela are a proud people, and from what G’raha has gleaned from A’lyhia’s stories, Magnai is particularly so. To cower beneath his judgment would be to forfeit any respect one might hope to earn in the eyes of Azim’s children.</p>
<p>Magnai’s lips shape into an arrogant smirk as he focuses on A’lyhia once more. “I’m impressed you managed to find a mate after all.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia’s tail bristles. Her tone is clipped as she replies, “And to the surprise of none, it would seem that you still have not. For the best, I would say. I pray for any woman unfortunate enough to wed you.”</p>
<p>“L-Lyhia, please…”</p>
<p>G’raha’s plea for civility falls on deaf ears. A’lyhia is perfectly content to continue plucking at the nerve she’s struck, evident in the crimson that has started to color Magnai’s regrettably handsome face. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong, Little Sun?” Her smile remains tight-lipped, but it’s clear that she relishes twisting the knife. “Still no luck finding your Nhaama? And to think that you called me a lost cause.”</p>
<p>They’ve drawn the attention of some nearby traders and merchants away from the Oronir hunters. A murmur ripples through the crowd as the tension between the two grows palpably thick. </p>
<p>“You appear to have forgotten the ways of the steppe,” Magnai growls. “Words carry no weight if you cannot back them up in combat. Perhaps you could use a reminder.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia reaches for her axe, clearly content to keep escalating. “Eager for another arse-beating, Magnai? And here I thought Y’shtola had finally put you in your place.”</p>
<p>G’raha can only watch in horror as that snide comment prompts Magnai to reach for his weapon as well. </p>
<p>The crowd that has gathered to watch them parts suddenly, making way for a veiled Xaela. The newcomer does not speak, but the silent fury in his gaze quickly has the onlookers dispersing. He manages to momentarily pacify A’lyhia and Magnai as well, if only so they can relocate to a proper battleground. </p>
<p>“The Dusk Throne. One hour,” Magnai says. He turns to rejoin his men as the market goers resume circling around their prey like opportunistic scavengers, but pauses to throw one last provocation over his shoulder. “Do not disappoint me, khagan.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>The blazing sun and sweltering heat are merciless, proof that only the strongest may call the Azim Steppe home.

</p>
<p>G’raha tries not to fidget as he watches A’lyhia and Magnai take up opposite ends of the battlefield. He’s flanked not only by Oronir but Xaela in a variety of different garbs, warpaints, and insignias that signify the many different cultures of the steppe. </p>
<p>They’ve attracted a far greater audience than just those who had witnessed the petty squabble at Reunion. The roars of the crowd do little to quell the anxiety that has been building ever since that first confrontation, and G’raha can do nothing but have faith in A’lyhia’s capabilities.</p>
<p>She’s a powerful fighter, bolstered by her inner beast and Hydaelyn’s blessing alike; but he will never stop living in fear of the day that such gifts prove insufficient, and she’s left with nothing more than an axe and a frail constitution. </p>
<p>A’lyhia unsheathes her weapon. Across from her, Magnai does the same.</p>
<p>One of the Oronir brandishes a horn. After a pregnant pause he blows into it, letting out a bellowing call that sends the nearby sheep scattering and signifies the start of the match. </p>
<p>Magnai is faster, significantly so, and he descends upon A’lyhia with all the power and grace that one would expect from a respected warrior of the steppe. The two meet with a clash of metal that rings through the desert, and the collision kicks up a tempest of sand that momentarily obscures them from view.</p>
<p>G’raha’s pulse quickens as he waits for the dust to settle. When it does he sees that A’lyhia has lept backwards, and as Magnai closes the gap between them she unleashes a whirlwind of nascent chaos that has him staggering. </p>
<p>His onslaught has been halted, though only briefly. Magnai readjusts his grip on his axe and charges once more, putting her back within striking range in just a few powerful bounds. </p>
<p>A’lyhia barely manages to block his attack. She stumbles backwards from the impact, and Magnai doesn’t give her a moment to recover. He’s relentless, as the former champion of the Nadaam would have to be, and G’raha’s breath catches in his throat. </p>
<p>“Come on, Lyhia…”</p>
<p>She comes at Magnai with a fell cleave, followed quickly by an upheaval. He’s grazed by the latter but shakes it off remarkably well, and A’lyhia doesn’t have time to breathe before he’s coming at her with a heavy swing.</p>
<p>His attack doesn’t get the chance to connect. He stops, weapon poised, to find A’lyhia collapsed at his feet. </p>
<p>G’raha’s blood runs cold. The crowd lets out a disappointed chorus of jeers at the unceremonious ending, but G’raha’s ears are numb to the sound as he sprints over to her side. </p>
<p>All it feels like he can do is pray that her heart is still beating.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>She doesn’t recall much of what happened after that premature end to her battle with Magnai. There’s a vague recollection of someone scooping her up and cradling her as they whispered words of assurance; ones that were lost somewhere in the commotion and the thick haze that had left her mind as sluggish as her body.

</p>
<p>Cirina is waiting dutifully at A’lyhia’s bedside when she awakens, equipped with a water basin and cloth. She hums to herself as she dabs away the sweat beading on A’lyhia’s forehead, and her face is an almost angelic presence to be greeted by.</p>
<p>“It’s good to see you again, khagan.”</p>
<p>“Cirina.” A’lyhia slowly works her way into a seated position, but it doesn’t quite stave off the sense of vertigo that had felled her in the first place. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining.”</p>
<p>“Word gets around fast.” There’s a playful twinkle in her eye; a welcome sight, from someone who had once been overburdened with responsibility and the self-doubt that came with it. “Particularly when a fight between the current and former khagan breaks out.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” A’lyhia grimaces. Naturally her body had decided to call it quits when they’d had an audience, and a substantial one at that. “I suppose it would.”</p>
<p>She belatedly realizes that she’s dressed in a tunic, similar to those that she’s seen Qestir women wear around the markets. The loose-fitting garment is far more accommodating of the heat than the armor she had previously been wearing, and she spots her clothing neatly folded up on a nearby chair.</p>
<p>“I apologize,” Cirinia is quick to say when A’lyhia looks down at her unbound chest. “We had to remove your covering during our exam. Please forgive the intrusion.”</p>
<p>When Cirina bows her head, A’lyhia coaxes it back up with a hand on her cheek.</p>
<p>“I understand. Besides,” she adds with a mischievous smile, “it’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”</p>
<p>Red blossoms on Cirina’s pale skin, reminding A’lyhia of what had endeared her to the young Xaela in the first place. Yet the moment is promptly ruined when a disapproving grunt comes from the entrance to the hut.</p>
<p>“It seems the khagan has grown more delicate in her travels,” Magnai remarks. His face betrays little, as it tends to, but his posture is far too relaxed — self-satisfied, A’lyhia would argue — considering the hollowness of his victory. “I’m disappointed. You were once an adversary worth fighting.”</p>
<p>“Shove it up your arse, Magnai,” A’lyhia snaps, and her vulgarity is enough to provoke a wide-eyed Cirinia into action. </p>
<p>“I think it would be best if you gave her some space,” Cirinia says, and though there’s a quiver belying her words she does not cower beneath Magnai and his steely gaze. </p>
<p>A’lyhia feels a swell of pride, watching the young Mol square up against the insufferable boy who enjoyed playing the part of king. Magnai, likely reliving the devastating blow that Y’shtola had once dealt to his pride, is surprisingly compliant. He swallows a retort before yielding to Cirinia’s authority and removing himself from the medicine hut, much to the benefit of A’lyhia’s blood pressure. </p>
<p>Cirina exhales and takes a moment to collect herself before returning to A’lyhia’s side.</p>
<p>“I apologize, khagan,” she says with a sheepish bow of her head, but there’s an unmistakable glint of triumph in her gaze. “I know you’ve never been fond of him and I doubt that having him here will aid your recovery.”</p>
<p>“The title of khagan belongs to you, you know,” A’lyhia assures her. She reaches over and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind Cirinia’s horn. “You wear it well. Thank you for scaring him off.”</p>
<p>Cirina flushes at the praise but accepts it with a resolute smile. “You helped us bring pride back to the Mol. It’s the very least I can do.”</p>
<p>A Qestir woman emerges from behind a curtain with a bundle of steppe herbs that she begins grinding up with a mortar and pestle. A’lyhia catches a whiff of them as the healer silently works and tries not to make a face at the pungent smell, one that Cirina seems completely unbothered by or oblivious to. </p>
<p>“Where’s Raha?” A’lyhia asks in the quiet that follows. </p>
<p>“He’s helping the children tend to the sheep,” Cirina explains. “He was quite anxious, as I’m sure you can imagine, and I thought it might help him if he kept busy.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia reclines back on the cot as she feels another wave of dizziness, doubtless exacerbated by the smell of the medicine that’s being concocted for her. </p>
<p>“I’m impressed you managed to get him out of here,” A’lyhia says with a fond smile. “You’re not wrong about him being a worrier. Unfortunate for him, given my history with these things.”</p>
<p>Cirina nods solemnly. “I remember that night after the Nadaam. It didn’t feel quite right to celebrate when you were ill.”</p>
<p>“If it’s the price I have to pay to put that bastard Magnai in his place, then I’ll gladly do it again.” A’lyhia closes her eyes and adjusts the damp cloth on her forehead. Her skin still feels weirdly feverish in the aftermath of the battle, and she clings to the small mercy that the cold provides. “I just feel bad. Seems like every time I come to visit, you wind up playing nursemaid for me.”</p>
<p>“I get the feeling you aren’t given many opportunities to be looked after,” Cirina says. She sets aside the water basin and accepts the potion that the Qestir woman had prepared. “Here. This will help.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia takes a cautious sniff before accepting the proffered concoction. The two Xaela watch her intently, leaving her with no choice but to drink the foul substance. </p>
<p>“Um…” She raises the cup in a toast. “Cheers, I guess?”</p>
<p>She’d intended to throw it all back at once, much like how she used to take her liquor. But she quickly finds herself outmatched, and in a spectacularly dramatic display what she doesn’t gag on winds up spilling all over the floor at Cirina’s feet. </p>
<p>The two share a glance. Cirinia looks more startled than mortified, but it does little to assuage A’lyhia’s own horror at what had just occurred. </p>
<p>“Oh my god…”</p>
<p>“That’s strange,” Cirina murmurs. She grabs the discarded cup before it can roll under the cot and examines what little liquid remains in it. “Yesuntei’s tinctures don’t tend to cause a reaction like that.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia rubs her mouth with the back of her hand. The potion has started to seep into the flooring, and the potent aroma of it brings on another wave of nausea that has Yesuntei handing her a wooden pail.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” A’lyhia mutters, sounding as miserable as she feels after retching up what remained of her breakfast. “I don’t think steppe herbs agree with me.”</p>
<p>Cirina frowns as she examines the leftover sprigs. “It’s odd. I’ve only seen someone have a response to chickweed like that if they’re with child.”</p>
<p>Yesuntei rubs soothing circles in A’lyhia’s back but offers no further wisdom than a nod of affirmation. </p>
<p>“Are you?” Cirina asks suddenly. She turns towards A’lyhia, a radiant smile lighting up her gentle features as the chickweed is promptly forgotten. “With child.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia sets the pail and what little remains of her dignity aside. “I— no?”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Cirina looks away, suddenly bashful once more. “I’m sorry, I had assumed that you and G’raha were...close.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Cirina’s fair skin is a few shades off from the dress that she wears. She stares down at her hands in her lap as she says, “It was rude of me to make assumptions.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>While A’lyhia would normally have no qualms discussing such matters, she finds herself more reluctant to do so in the presence of the Qestir woman’s silent judgment and lowers her voice accordingly. “I am sharing my bed with him.”</p>
<p>That gives Cirina pause, but at the very least she can bring herself to meet A’lyhia’s gaze once more. “O-Oh. Then, pardon my bluntness, but how can you be so sure? Contraceptives are not always effective.”</p>
<p>“I, um…” A’lyhia fiddles with a strand of her hair. It feels like Yesuntei’s eyes are boring through her soul as she admits, “We don’t exactly — we’re not using any?”</p>
<p>Cirina blinks at her several times. “And does he…” Her voice drops to a whisper in a vain attempt at discretion, despite the knowing and unflinching stare they’re getting from Yesuntei. “Um, finish?”</p>
<p>A’lyhia buries her face in her hands. Cirina looks ready to expire in Nhaama’s embrace. </p>
<p>She scrambles to remember when her last cycle had been; a near exercise in futility, given that the frustrating unpredictability of them has been their only constant ever since her first season.</p>
<p>“There’s no way,” A’lyhia manages to say after a prolonged and uncomfortable silence. “I can’t be. They always said I would be too unhealthy to ever have children.”</p>
<p>There was a time where she had gladly given up such prospects, had embraced the fact that she would never share her mother’s fixation with having children. It was only in the dawn’s light outside Athenaeum Astrologicum that she had started to understand her mother’s anguish. </p>
<p>Raha had spoken of children with all the optimism of a man that had his whole life ahead of him; infinite possibilities, all at his fingertips, and who would she be to deny him one such opportunity?</p>
<p>“Do you want them?” Cirina asks suddenly.</p>
<p>“Yes,” A’lyhia replies with more conviction than she had anticipated. “But there’s no — the healer in my tribe, she said… And my mother, she had a hard enough time getting pregnant as it was.”</p>
<p>Yesuntei takes her hand and caresses it with her thumb. It’s a small gesture, but A’lyhia finds it more comforting than any platitudes that someone unbound by Qestir customs could offer. </p>
<p>“I don’t think you should take whatever she told you to heart,” Cirina says, and it’s possibly the first time that A’lyhia has seen smoldering anger in eyes that are normally so gentle. “It sounds to me like she made assumptions about you. Maybe she didn’t do so deliberately, or with bad intentions. Maybe she just wanted you to be prepared for the worst. But I really do think that you should reconsider.</p>
<p>“Would you like me to go get G’raha for you?” Cirina quietly asks.</p>
<p>“No!” A’lyhia responds, harsher than she had intended. “I’m sorry. No, I don’t want to worry him. There’s no point, we don’t — we don’t know anything. We’d just be putting ideas in his head.”</p>
<p>“A’lyhia,” Cirina says firmly. She grabs A’lyhia by the arm, preventing her from making the quick escape she’d been about to attempt. “I know you must be feeling a lot of things right now, but please try to be rational for a moment. This isn’t something that you can just ignore, and it isn’t something that you should go through alone, either.</p>
<p>“Yesuntei can help you,” Cirina assures her. “There’s a healer in her tribe that is very skilled at sensing fluctuations in aether, like those that come with a child. He would be able to tell.”</p>
<p>“I’ll consider it,” A’lyhia yields, and it’s enough to get Cirina to let go of her. “But I can’t do this right now. I just… I need some time.”</p>
<p>She stands up, even as another wave of dizziness threatens to leave her bed bound once more. She brushes off Yesuntei and Cirina’s offers for help as she gathers up her belongings and bids them farewell with an apology and a thank you for their hospitality. </p>
<p>When she emerges from the hut, the sun has begun to descend beyond the western mountain ranges. She scans Reunion in the fading sunlight and spots G’raha off in the sheep pen, surrounded by a swarm of giggling Auri children. </p>
<p>A’lyhia sucks in a breath and forces herself to greet them with a smile.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>“So,” G’raha says as he settles into their bedroll behind A’lyhia, “you and Cirina.”

</p>
<p>A’lyhia looks back at him with a quirked brow. “Are you asking if I partook in <em>intimate relations</em> with our fair hostess?”</p>
<p>G’raha groans. “You don’t plan on letting that go, do you?”</p>
<p>A’lyhia gives him a smug look before curling back up. “Not a chance in hell, Grandpa. And we did, back when I first came to the steppe. Can you blame me, though? She’s adorable.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” G’raha responds noncommittally. “Well, between her and Dorgono, I believe I’m starting to see a pattern.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying that I have a thing for Xaela women?”</p>
<p>“I’m just making an observation, that’s all,” he says in a poor attempt at sounding innocent. </p>
<p>“And yet,” A’lyhia says, “I’m sharing my bed with a Seeker man. Who would have thought.”</p>
<p>“I suppose miracles happen everyday. Quite fortunate for me.”</p>
<p>He goes still, save for his breathing. A’lyhia feels the steady rise and fall of his chest as she listens to the cries of the crickets around their tent. </p>
<p>“Forgive me,” G’raha murmurs. He begins to map out nonsensical patterns on her back with his fingertips, never able to keep still when his anxieties flare up. “If I may be selfish for a moment.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia leans back into him and allows his touch to lull her towards sleep. “I’d say you’ve earned it. Shoot.”</p>
<p>“When I saw you go down…” His hand falters for a moment, and she can hear him work his throat in the quiet that follows. “I just couldn’t shake the thought that it was the light — that it wasn’t miraculously gone, or that it was still affecting you somehow. That it had done irreparable damage and that I was responsible for it.”</p>
<p>She remembers all too well the searing pain that had accompanied each surge in her aether. The light had been an insidious creature, buying its time in silence until all at once it had attempted to burn her alive from the inside. </p>
<p>She’d had nightmares of it molding her into something grotesque, a monster incapable of knowing anything but the drive to rend and slaughter those that she had been meant to save. </p>
<p>It was only recently that she’d started to know peace in her dreams again. There are still moments where she has to stop and examine herself, ensure that her flesh hasn’t been overtaken by the cold, unfeeling alabaster of the sin eaters. </p>
<p>But there’s no point in burdening an already guilt-ridden soul with such knowledge, she decides; not when his presence at her back is a source of solace, his companionship an atonement for more than his own wrongs. </p>
<p>“My health problems have existed long before that,” she says. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take any grievances up with my parents. Their handiwork left something to be desired.”</p>
<p>Cirina’s words echo in her head, and with a chagrined smile she wonders if G’raha is, perhaps, responsible in a way. </p>
<p>She can hear the restless thump of G’raha’s tail, agitated in a way that she knows he’ll never express with words. It’s clear that a century alone did little to cultivate a healthy sense of self-expression in him.</p>
<p>“My actions didn’t exactly help your situation.” His arms tighten around her, as if he’s afraid that she’ll slip through his grasp and into the oblivion that had nearly claimed her. </p>
<p>Her hand comes to rest on top of his, just above her navel. She wonders what it would be like to do the same if she were heavy with child, to fumble their way through acts of intimacy that would suddenly be more challenging but all the more rewarding because of it.</p>
<p>She closes her eyes and wills herself to let such fantasies go. “I forgive you, Raha. I only hope that you can someday forgive yourself.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was definitely tougher to write since some of these themes are heavier, and while I didn't want to dwell on them I wanted to treat them with the respect they deserve. I hope that it came across alright.</p>
<p>Thank you for your kind comments, they always make me smile.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The heat is sticky, the kind that burrows under your skin like the crickets’ mournful song wheedles its way into your dreams. Even so, G’raha is awoken by a sudden chill in the dead of night.</p>
<p>His Seeker eyes struggle to adjust to the dark as he gropes blindly around next to him. It quickly becomes apparent that A’lyhia is gone, stolen away from their tent the way she did so often all those years ago in Silvertear. He can only hope that this time she hasn’t done it out of distaste for his company, and as he crawls out of the tent he makes an earnest effort to nip such insecurities in the bud.</p>
<p><em>I think I love you, G’raha Tia,</em> she had said. The way that she privileges him with her company in sleep is an even greater expression of devotion; more so than any words of adulation she can heap upon a head that is no longer heavy. He holds onto that fact as he approaches her, runs it through his fingers like the beads of a rosary.</p>
<p>She’s sitting with her back to him. Her gown pools around her where she sits, a dust of rose against umber. He can see the waxing crescent of her axe as she cleans it: an elegy for a dead woman who had turned her suffering into spite, let it bloom like the spider lilies of her youth.</p>
<p>The grass rustles as he takes a seat at her side. In the distance, he can make out a very faint breeze rustling the blades — not enough to give them mercy from the warmth that persists even in Nhaama’s domain, but perhaps a little something to usher the wayward souls of Dotharl to their new homes.</p>
<p>“This seems familiar,” she remarks, sounding far more distant than the few ilms that separate them. She keeps her focus on her axe, rubbing away a few stubborn spots and likely wishing she could do the same with the day’s events. </p>
<p>G’raha leans his head against her shoulder and closes his eyes, letting the nighttime air seep into his exposed skin. “I’m starting to think you might have insomnia. Anything I can do?”</p>
<p>It’s his natural inclination, to try and remedy whatever ails another — even more so when it comes to her. But she brushes his offer off with a breezy laugh, one that’s swallowed whole by the nocturnal symphony being conducted all around them.</p>
<p>“I wish it were that simple,” A’lyhia quietly admits. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”</p>
<p>She holds up her axe to inspect her handiwork. The moonlight gives the flower motif an ethereal glow.</p>
<p>“You’re not planning on challenging Magnai again, are you?” G’raha asks, tracing the curve of the weapon with his eyes. There’s an undeniable elegance to it that clashes with the raw brutality of her fighting style, not unlike the pink gown that she wears under the cover of the dark. </p>
<p>His gaze wanders from her hand on the hilt, down her arm to where it meets the silk garment. He can see her breast in the plunge of the neckline and looks away with a demure blush. <em>For your eyes only.</em></p>
<p>“No,” A’lyhia says, begrudgingly setting her axe aside; hopefully along with any intention of cleaving the man that had walked away from the battlefield while she had been spirited away in G’raha’s arms. “No, I won’t. There’s no point in giving him another chance to humiliate me.”</p>
<p>Her lip quivers. He catches the shimmer in her eyes before she can look away and attempt to hide from the shame of only being human.</p>
<p>“Hey,” G’raha soothes, easing her into his lap before she can run. “It’s alright. What happened wasn’t your fault. Don’t think less of yourself because of it.”</p>
<p>She stubbornly rubs her eyes with her sleeve, but it’s not long before she concedes defeat. “Damn it, I need to stop doing this in front of you.”</p>
<p>G’raha chuckles. He wraps his arms around her and rocks gently side to side, mimicking the rolling motion of the vessel they had traversed the Ruby Sea with. “I’ve done more than my fair share of crying in front of you. Don’t be afraid to let it out, Lyhia. You owe yourself that much.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia hiccups softly. He can’t see her face pressed up against his chest but can imagine the way her tears must leave wet tracks in their wake; the tails of meteorites as they blaze towards oblivion, soon to be naught but ash.</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault,” G’raha repeats. He brushes his nose against the flushed skin of her neck, savors the warmth there for a moment before leaving a chaste kiss.</p>
<p>“It is, though,” she whispers. Her body grows heavy, even as her words become feverish. “I was always so reckless. Who needs to care when you’re dying, right? Have a smoke. Drink yourself stupid. Let every <em>goddamn Tia</em> in your tribe feel you up behind Azeyma’s bloody shrine. At least she can’t see you there and be disappointed in you the way the rest of them are.”</p>
<p>“Lyhia.” G’raha cups her cheek with the palm of his hand and catches a tear with his thumb. “Lyhia, look at me. Breathe.”</p>
<p>Pride keeps her eyes downcast, but she listens to him enough to take a few steadying breaths. </p>
<p>“You’re so much more than any of your past regrets,” G’raha assures her. “You’ve come so far, Lyhia, and I’ll always be proud of you.”</p>
<p>He cradles her against his chest once more. If he concentrates, he can feel the imperfect beat of her heart, each electrical impulse and act of defiance against the hand that she had been dealt at birth. </p>
<p>She goes quiet. Her breathing deepens, slowly approaching the tempo of his own. They sit like that for a moment, two children of the Sun bathed in Nhaama’s glow. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she eventually says. </p>
<p>G’raha hums. It’s a tune he had once used to help lull Lyna to sleep on nights when the Tower proved too frightening for a child with a vivid imagination. “You have nothing to apologize for. We’re a team, Lyhia. We look out for each other.”</p>
<p>He rubs her back as she clings to his nightshirt with the same strength she must employ in slaying primals. “Forgive the assumption,” he says, “but I get the feeling there’s more on your mind than Magnai. Would you be comfortable sharing with me?”</p>
<p>She heaves a sigh, and he’s never desired so much to be able to ease the weight of the burden she bears on her shoulders. “It’s nothing.” She worries her lip, effectively showing him her hand. They’ve always been equally poor at lying. “He just — he reminds me of everything I hate about men. No offense.”</p>
<p>“None taken,” G’raha says, choosing not to press her on the matter; not now, at least, when she feels so fragile in her embrace. </p>
<p>“You’re sunburned,” she remarks suddenly, pivoting the conversation away while prodding the blotches of red that creep up the length of his arm. When G’raha sucks in a breath as the skin blanches beneath her curious touch, she pulls back and gives his hand an apologetic kiss. “Sorry, it’s just…” She musters up a grin. He’ll gladly bear it at his own expense, if that's the small price of seeing her smile. “You wouldn’t have lasted a day in Thanalan.”</p>
<p>“I imagine not.” G’raha brings her hand to rest against his cheek. Her fingers are warm and calloused, her touch unmuted by the mark of the Tower; a reminder of where he is, and where he came from. “Do you ever think about going home?”</p>
<p>A’lyhia makes a face — unsurprising, yet he knows that some wounds should be given the opportunity to breathe rather than fester. </p>
<p>“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it,” she says, easing herself off of his lap. She tucks her knees up against her chest and gently rocks side to side, much like a fidgeting child — or G’raha, in a similar moment of vulnerability — might. “There’s a petty part of me that wants to just so I can show that they were wrong about me. That despite everything I’m still alive, and that my life really was worth something.”</p>
<p>“Do you ever miss your mother?” G’raha asks, already lamenting the loss of her weight against him. </p>
<p>She fiddles with the hem of her gown, runs the delicate stitches through her rough fingertips. “Yes. I feel like I shouldn’t. But at the end of the day she’s still my mom, you know?”</p>
<p>Moments where A’lyhia willingly divulged information about life in her tribe were few and far between. Most inquiries were met with either an airy dismissal or a blunt rejection, depending on the subject. G’raha has found that A’lyhia tends towards the latter when it comes to her mom, but in the illuminating light of the Dusk Mother she suddenly seems more amenable to opening up. </p>
<p>“I wonder what she’d think of you,” A’lyhia muses. “Truthfully, I think she’d just be ecstatic that someone actually wanted to keep me.” </p>
<p>“I don’t find it nearly as remarkable that someone would love you.” G’raha picks the blades of grass at his feet as he makes an effort to hold his tongue. </p>
<p>A’lyhia tilts her head back and closes her eyes, letting Nhaama embrace her in a way her mother never would. “She’d be insufferable if I ever brought you home. If she hadn’t already given up on me having kids, then she’d be hounding us about them as soon as you were through the door.”</p>
<p>Her words bring to mind tiny, crimson eyes peering out from beneath black bangs. He flushes, feeling warmer still as he studies the curve of her neck and wonders how it would feel to mark it in a way no other man had.</p>
<p>“She couldn’t see you as the motherly type, I take it?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” A’lyhia stills suddenly. Her expression goes eerily vacant for a moment before she becomes animated once more, her eyes wide and her demeanor somewhat frantic; as if Providence had thrust a divine revelation upon her without any preamble, and she was left reeling in the face of its glory. “Right. No, she eventually came to realize that I wasn’t cut out for that sort of thing. But she was too stubborn to accept it for a while.”</p>
<p>“Well,” G’raha says, scooting closer so he can wrap an arm around her and cuddle her against his side, “I’ve seen the way you talk about children and I would have to respectfully disagree with her.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia laughs weakly as she rests her head against his shoulder. The way her cheeks glow with a girlish satisfaction does not go unnoticed by him. “You really think so?”</p>
<p>It’s unusual for her to ask for validation. He curls his tail around her as if to ward off the doubts that would lead her to seek affirmation, particularly over something that he sees as such a blatant truth.</p>
<p>Her eyes had held such an innocence and wonder when she’d spoken of that Mystel child. He resents the fact that her mother had not done the same with her. </p>
<p>“I do,” he assures her. He tilts her chin up so she meets his gaze and gently dabs away those last lingering tears. “Neither your mom nor anyone else gets to dictate who you are as a person, Lyhia. Please, don’t let them decide what is or isn’t possible for you.”</p>
<p>“Yes sir,” she drawls, but beneath her good humor he can feel an almost palpable sense of relief, a humbling reminder that even the most lauded of heroes need a little reassurance.</p>
<p>G’raha brings his lips to hers in an unspoken promise that she eagerly reciprocates. He can’t deny that the sight of her basking in the moon’s glow, draped in silks that show a tantalizing amount of skin, is pure temptation. She fists his shirt in her hands once more, grazing his chest with her nails and leaving goose flesh in their wake. </p>
<p>He encourages her to open her mouth with a gentle thumb on her chin. She does so with a quiet moan, pulling him flush against her as he teases her tongue with his own. Her hair, out of its usual ponytail, drapes loosely around her shoulders. G’raha runs his fingers through the ebony strands — <em>the only feminine thing about me,</em> she had once said, only partially in jest — and brings his hand to rest on the back of her neck. </p>
<p>His other hand slips beneath her gown, pausing to flirt with the edge of her pantalettes before sliding up the sensitive skin along her sides. </p>
<p>She giggles as his hands shamelessly scale her ribs. “Someone could see us, you know.”</p>
<p>“At this time of night?” He chuckles, marveling at the way she shivers from the feeling of his breath on her skin. “I find it unlikely. And it’s a risk I’m willing to take for the chance to make love to you under the stars.”</p>
<p>“When did you get so — ah…” She trails off as he nips her right above the flutter of her pulse, and her lapse in speech only encourages him to take that same skin between his lips and suck. “So bold?”</p>
<p>Somewhere between the moment he’d feared he lost her and her surprisingly modest response to his inquiry about children, he thinks, but he opts instead for a cheekier reply. “There must be something in the air here. Wouldn’t you agree khagan?”</p>
<p>“You’re not about to start calling me that in bed,” she says, but her protest is belied by the way she visibly shivers in response to the epithet. </p>
<p>G’raha decides to exploit this weakness that has presented itself to him. He eases her down onto the grass, frames her hips with his knees and leans in to respond with a sultry murmur. “Not even with such a willing subject at your beck and call, khagan?”</p>
<p>“Raha…” </p>
<p>She gazes up at him with hooded eyes and parted lips, flushed skin and a heaving chest that he finds himself unable to resist. </p>
<p><em>Your eyes only.</em> He could spit curses at every <em>goddamn Tia</em> that had given her a reason to hide.</p>
<p>“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, trailing his lips down the jut of her collarbone to the top of her breasts. He touches her beneath the thin layer of her gown, rolls a nipple with the rough pad of his thumb until she arches into his touch. </p>
<p>“You’re biased,” she says, but he doesn’t miss how she blushes at the praise as if such a possibility had eluded her.</p>
<p>“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, then,” he confesses. </p>
<p>A’lyhia chews on her lip. She looks off to the side, as if the burning sincerity in his gaze is unbearable. </p>
<p>His hand stills. “Lyhia?”</p>
<p>She has a faraway look about her as she says, “There was something else.”</p>
<p>He crawls off of her, sets her gown back to rights. “I’m listening.”</p>
<p>“I’m…” She closes her eyes, mouths something to herself that he can’t quite decipher; a prayer, perhaps, or a plea for guidance. “I’m not ready to tell you yet. But I promise that I will.”</p>
<p>G’raha coaxes her back into a seated position. He carefully removes bits of dandelion and grass from her hair as he says, “Then tell me when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>He seals that promise with a kiss to her forehead. He’s kept more than his fair share of secrets from her, but karmic retribution provides little comfort when the woman he loves looks so lost.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Shameless WoL lore indulgence.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their arrival back at Revenant’s Toll is as unceremonious as the end to their journey had been.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” A’lyhia says. No sooner have they touched down in the aetheryte plaza than she’s offering apologies; a trend that has been ongoing ever since she’d proposed returning via teleportation, rather than taking the scenic route as she had initially planned. “I know this isn’t exactly a fun end to our adventure.”</p>
<p>“It’s only the first of many,” G’raha assures her. He takes her hand — <em>when did you get so bold?</em> — as those last crackles of aether flicker and fade in the temperate air. “And our already extended absence aside, I thoroughly enjoyed the time we did spend together.”</p>
<p>That manages to get a smile out of her. It’s a victory that G’raha intends to savor, given how strangely somber she’s been. </p>
<p>He takes the initiative, carefully guiding her through the throngs of aspiring young adventurers and the boisterous Seventh Heaven patrons towards the entrance of their base: their home, and perhaps it really is the first that he has ever truly known. </p>
<p>Tataru is the first to notice them as they descend the steps. She greets them with her usual bright-eyed enthusiasm and a chirp of, “Welcome home!”</p>
<p>Her words effectively rouse the rest of the Scions from whatever they had been attending to. Y’shtola, who had been engrossed in a conversation with Krile over a cup of tea and plate of coffee biscuits — Tataru’s handiwork, G’raha presumes — looks up at them with white eyes and a playful quirk to her painted lips.</p>
<p>“I was beginning to think that you had kidnapped her a second time,” Y’shtola says with a dry wit that would surely make Master Matoya proud. “‘Tis good to see you again.”</p>
<p>“In one piece, no less,” Thancred quips. He has one arm propped up on the counter of the bar and seems either blissfully unaware of or completely unfazed by the way that Clemence occasionally looks up from her cleaning to offer him a coquettish glance. “Remarkable, given G’raha’s track record.”</p>
<p>“I can assure you that there were no fumbling attempts at magic on my part,” G’raha says, fiddling with the fringe on his scarf. “We’re just as hale and whole as we were when we left.”</p>
<p>There’s something about Y’shtola’s gaze, sightless though it may be in the traditional sense, that has G’raha shifting his weight and holding A’lyhia’s hand just a little bit tighter. She has a way of making him feel as if she’s plucked his soul from his corporeal form and is running it through her fingers the way she does her staff: with all the knowledge of the arcane and aetherial alike, right in the palm of her hand. </p>
<p>Mercifully, she doesn’t seem nearly as interested in him as she does A’lyhia. Y’shtola raises her cup to the tight line of her lips as she examines A’lyhia with a furrowed brow. There’s a beat of awkward tension, a void that Tataru excitedly fills with her plans to prepare a homecoming feast that evening, and G’raha could swear that A’lyhia has stopped breathing.</p>
<p>He’s tempted by a sudden desire to whisk her away, and save her from whatever scrutiny Y’shtola is silently subjecting her to. But after an uncomfortable pause, Y’shtola’s expression evens out into something more neutral, though no less enigmatic.</p>
<p>“It seems that some congratulations are in order,” she says, setting her cup aside. The clink of it against the saucer feels strangely ominous, given her cryptic remark. </p>
<p>G’raha looks down at A’lyhia for guidance. “Pardon?”</p>
<p>She looks to be in something of a stupor, her own eyes nearly vacant as they partake in some wordless conversation with Y’shtola’s aetherial sight. He gives her hand a squeeze that seems to ground her, and it’s only then that he processes the fact that the intimate gesture doesn’t leave too much to their audience’s imagination.</p>
<p>“Might as well put it out there in the open,” A’lyhia says. Her tail curls itself around G’raha’s in a somewhat brazen display of affection. “Raha and I are together.”</p>
<p>Tataru looks giddy at the news — in part, G’raha thinks, because it gives her an excuse to make an even more lavish meal — while Krile offers him a nod of approval.</p>
<p>“That’s wonderful news, you two,” she says, and G’raha sheepishly wonders if she ever thought that this eccentric and lonely boy would ever find love; and he reminds himself that if anyone had ever had faith in him during those rough days of his youth, it was her. “I would say you’ve both more than earned this happiness.”</p>
<p>“Together, huh,” Alisaie repeats. She sets aside the rook that she had been holding, far too interested in their affairs to focus on the game of chess she’d been playing with Urianger. “You’d better behave yourselves in public.”</p>
<p>“No promises,” A’lyhia says, letting her hand drift down to shamelessly rest on G’raha’s arse.</p>
<p>“I thought that something seemed a little different about you, G’raha.” Thancred smirks. “Our tia has become a man.”</p>
<p>“That’s not—“</p>
<p>Between Thancred’s teasing, Alisaie’s indignation, and A’lyhia’s groping, G’raha can’t come up with a coherent response. Fortunately, Y’shtola of all people clears her throat and is the one to grant him clemency.</p>
<p>“Apologies for breaking up this lively reunion,” she says, “but I would like to discuss something with A’lyhia.”</p>
<p>She stands, and her chair scrapes across the floor with a sound that would make anyone hesitant to question her authority. She gives A’lyhia a pointed look before heading in the direction of Dawn’s Respite.</p>
<p>A’lyhia pries her hand from G’raha’s with no shortage of effort. She mouths an apology over her shoulder as she trudges off to await Y’shtola’s judgment.</p>
<p>G’raha doesn’t have time to mull over what had just happened. He feels a firm tug on his shoulder and turns to find himself face to face with a stern-looking Alisaie. A sense of foreboding settles in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>“You’ve been gone more than two months,” she says, her eyes glinting with the near sadistic glee of a mentor who has caught her junior slacking in their duties. “Have you kept up with your training at all?”</p>
<p>The way G’raha’s ears flatten against his head is an admission of guilt in itself. Thancred’s laughter feels like the harbinger of his downfall.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>The door to Dawn’s Respite closes with a heavy <em>thunk.</em> It might as well have been the last proverbial nail on A’lyhia’s coffin.

</p><p>Y’shtola strides into the room with a sense of purpose, as she is inclined to do, and even through the sense of impending doom A’lyhia can still find it in herself to admire that way that Y’shtola can command the room a room with her dignified presence alone. It comes as no wonder that the Night’s Blessed had been so enthralled by her.</p>
<p>“You haven’t told him,” Y’shtola says, blunt as ever. It’s a simple statement of fact that manages to sound more like an accusation.</p>
<p>A’lyhia doesn’t know why she expected her to bother with pleasantries. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>She takes a seat on the edge of one of the beds. It feels like a lifetime ago that the catatonic Scions had been confined to this room, their very lives at the mercy of Krile and Matoya’s meticulous care and G’raha’s determination to see them home, no matter the cost. </p>
<p>“I, um…” She fiddles with the braid that’s draped across her shoulder, plucking at the loose strands as she scans the room for something to focus on. “I’m not — we didn’t exactly plan this.”</p>
<p>Y’shtola folds her arms across her chest. Even staring at the floor, A’lyhia can feel the overwhelming heat of her gaze. “Were you planning on simply ignoring it?”</p>
<p>“No,” A’lyhia snaps. She’s a cornered animal at the mercy of a predator, and her pulse quickens with a burst of adrenaline. “I know you don’t like me, but do you really think so low of me? That I would just cover my ears and will my problems away? I’m not the child that you still think I am.”</p>
<p>That gives Y’shtola pause. She stands there for a moment, her reaction muted save for the slight quirk of her brow, the shuffling of her weight. She always has been incredibly disciplined with her words and body language alike; a fact that only becomes even more apparent after spending months with G’raha.</p>
<p>She eventually comes to sit on the bed beside A’lyhia. The petty part of A’lyhia wants to scoot away from her, but that would only prove Y’shtola right about her maturity.</p>
<p>“You’ve grown a lot since I first met you,” Y’shtola says, “and I respect the woman that you’ve become. But we’re all works in progress, myself included. And while I will not deny that I can be hard on you, I assure you that I never do so with bad intentions.”</p>
<p>“I know.” A’lyhia sighs, running her hands over her face. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m just…”</p>
<p>“Hormonal,” Y’shtola supplies with a slight smile. </p>
<p>“Yes,” A’lyhia agrees, grateful for the excuse that Y’shtola has graciously handed her. “And it’s only going to get worse.”</p>
<p>“Which is why we need to start planning,” Y’shtola says; back to business, after an amicable interlude. “Fortunately, Krile has proven to be more than an adept healer. But you’ll be needing support in other ways.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia picks at some loose threads on the bedspread. “Raha, you mean.”</p>
<p>Y’shtola’s expression could almost be called fond as she says, “He can be a rash, idealistic fool, but I wager that you would be hard pressed to find a more dedicated mate. You need to tell him. You’ll be thankful that you did.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia smiles as she recalls the way that G’raha had always approached Y’shtola with an air of fragility, given their somewhat tenuous relationship on the First. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”</p>
<p>Y’shtola chuckles. Naturally, she does so with the same grace that she always conducts herself with, but it still feels like a greater feat than slaying a Primal. “How far along are you? When was your last cycle?”</p>
<p>“Umm…” A’lyhia squints as she tries to recall any particular incidents that might have pointed towards her being in heat. “Maybe — oh. When we were in Kugane, five? No, six. Six weeks ago. I had a dream that—“</p>
<p>“Spare me the details,” Y’shtola interjects with a grimace. “We’ll settle on six weeks.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>“So,” Alisaie begins, in what G’raha can only assume is a poor attempt at sounding casual, “you and A’lyhia.”

</p><p>“Cutting to the chase, I see,” Thancred says dryly as he parks himself in the shadow of a nearby rock formation. The heat is less unforgiving than it was on the Azim Steppe, but G’raha still finds himself envying their observer. “You’re shameless, Alisaie.”</p>
<p>“And you’re any better?” Alisaie challenges, prompting Thancred to concede defeat with a shrug.</p>
<p>“I’m just saying, there are ways to approach this with a little more tact. ‘Honey, not vinegar,’ or whatever it was the pixies used to say.”</p>
<p>“I imagine they had slightly more sinister intentions in mind,” G’raha says. He pulls out his staff, admiring the way the crystal glints in light of midday. “Feo Ul used to tell me about how their friends would lure mortals into Lydha Lyran to be their playthings.” He shudders at the thought, and can only be grateful that neither he nor the people of the Crystarium had ever met such a fate.</p>
<p>“And you think Alisaie is any less ill-intentioned?” </p>
<p>Alisaie shoots a glare in his direction as she draws her rapier. “Answer the question, G’raha.”</p>
<p>“Question?” G’raha repeats with a puzzled tilt of his head. “You didn’t actually ask—“</p>
<p>“She’s just dying to know all the intimate details about your relationship,” Thancred jeers from the sidelines. “Go on, G’raha. Do share.”</p>
<p>“I don’t — ah!”</p>
<p>He yelps as a bolt of thunder singes the ground near his feet. He leaps back a yalm, narrowly avoiding the jolt that Alisaie follows up with. </p>
<p>She gives him a daring look where she stands opposite him in the clearing, rapier poised and her aetherial focus glowing with the energy of a burgeoning fire spell. “Focus, rookie! You’ve been slacking and we’re not leaving until you’re back in form.”</p>
<p>“Is this an interrogation or a training session?” G’raha hollers. He taps his staff against the ground, manifesting a circle of ley lines beneath him as he already anticipates her answer.</p>
<p>“Both!” Alisaie responds. “Go on, what made you finally fess up?”</p>
<p>“Fess…” G’raha doesn’t have an opportunity to process what she’s said before he’s forced to roll out of the way of a blast of fire. He rides a current of aether back into lines before firing off a blizzard in retaliation. “I didn’t ‘fess up.’ She made the first move!”</p>
<p>Thancred whistles. “Now there’s a surprise. And here I thought it would be you, after all that pining you did.”</p>
<p>“Pi—“ G’raha can barely channel an enochian before he’s on the defensive once more, this time dodging a flurry of aero and jolt with a flèche weaved in to keep him on his toes. “I wasn’t ‘pining,’ I simply had a lot of respect for her and what she was willing to do for the sake of the First.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Alisaie scoffs, closing the gap between them and putting her rapier to work. “We all saw the way you looked at her.”</p>
<p>G’raha narrowly avoids a series of slashes, but manages to use one of his umbral hearts as Alisaie disengages and puts space between them once more. “We were only just starting to be on friendly terms when I shut myself away. I can assure you, I didn’t — I had no intention of <em>pursuing</em> her, it just...happened.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh. And was that before or after you started sleeping together?”</p>
<p>“Thancred!” G’raha takes his gaze off of Alisaie, scandalized by the question that he knew was inevitably coming. “That’s entirely inapp—“</p>
<p>For a moment he thinks that the earth itself is taking pity on him and is about to open up and swallow him whole. Unfortunately, it’s merely a stone spell that catches him completely off guard and sends him flying several yalms away. He lands square on his back and lays there, winded and ears ringing, until Alisaie comes over and blocks out the sun.</p>
<p>She stares down at him with a smug smile before lending a hand to help him up. “First win is mine.”</p>
<p>G’raha winces as he bends over to grab his staff. “I feel like I’m being hazed.”</p>
<p>“You are,” Thancred says without an onze of pity. “Welcome to the Scions, G’raha.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>—</p>
</div><p>He hears her steal away in the middle of the night, as she has made a habit of doing.

</p><p>G’raha wanders in the direction that he had seen her go, past Saint Coinach's Find and where the Keeper of the Lake can be seen overlooking the shoreline. He ultimately makes his way through the winding, crystalline landscape of Northern Silvertear — drawn by the Tower, he thinks, and he wonders if he will ever truly be free from its thrall — until he sees her sitting just outside the Crystal Gate.</p>
<p>She looks up as he approaches, offering him what feels like the first smile he’s seen from her since their return. </p>
<p>“Sit with me?” she asks, giving the ground next to her a pat that’s not as enticing as the entreaty in her eyes.</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>G’raha settles down at her side, cradling his knees against his chest. He mirrors her at first, leaning against the colossal gate for support, but quickly finds himself unable to resist resting his head against the curve of her shoulder. </p>
<p>It reminds him of that night on the steppe; only a few days ago, but time has a way of playing cruel tricks that make it feel disproportionately longer. There had been a shift in her demeanor since then — imperceptible to most, he would wager, but he’s haunted by the way she suddenly seems adverse to holding his gaze for more than a few moments. </p>
<p>This is the first time she’s accepted his company since then. He’s determined not to squander the opportunity with fumbled words and clumsy gestures, as is his nature. </p>
<p>“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, and it feels like a silly confession to make given that they’ve been near inseparable since his awakening. But the days following their return from the East have left him adrift, and no matter how much he scrambles for purchase he hasn’t been able to find his footing. </p>
<p>He yearns for the stability that her hand helps provide him. He isn’t sure that he has the courage to ask for it, least of all now when she’s hiding a burden beneath passive smiles and a knit brow.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” She leans her head against his, lets her tail curl around him in an imitation of an embrace. “I didn’t want to push you away, I just…”</p>
<p>She exhales. The air around them crackles with aetherial energy. “I’ve never been very good at handling my emotions. My coping methods aren’t exactly orthodox.”</p>
<p>“I’ve noticed that Thancred can be much the same,” G’raha says. “You two really are kindred spirits.”</p>
<p>A’lyhia cracks a weak smile. “I would call him my better half, but I’m not sure who that would be a greater insult to.”</p>
<p>They share a laugh, despite the palpable tension that has been simmering between them ever since the impromptu end to their stay in the steppe. It feels like coming home, if only for a moment, but he doesn’t miss the way the mirth dwindles from her gaze as she directs it towards the night sky.</p>
<p>“I came here a few times, after what happened with the Tower,” she says, and for a moment he wonders if she’s truly speaking to him or to whatever deity above might be willing to lend an ear to her plight. “After you shut yourself away. Rammbroes must have thought I was crazy for it, but he was too nice to say anything.”</p>
<p>G’raha had listened to those gilded doors close behind him with pride, driven by a newfound sense of purpose and the alluring call of destiny. His naivety, the very same that once had him viewing the world through a lens of heroics and virtue, had allowed him to accept the mantle that had been thrust upon him by his forebears. For what greater calling existed, than the ability to help others? To be a beacon of hope in even the bleakest of timelines, the direst of straits? </p>
<p>That her thoughts would linger on that moment, and his decision that had led to it, had never occurred to him. He was nothing more than a footnote in her story, a guest who made a graceful exit before he could overstay his welcome. </p>
<p>“I would sit right here,” she continues, “and I would think about what you said there, at the very end. About me charting your course.”</p>
<p>Even with the cool air that’s courtesy of the lake, G’raha grows warm at the memory of the grand speech he’d given a lifetime ago. “It was all a bit grandiose, I will admit. I had something of a flair for the dramatic, as I’m sure you recall.”</p>
<p>“‘Had,’ he says,” she quips, to which he can’t exactly argue. “I just couldn’t understand it for the longest time. How you could still see me as an inspiration when I so — when I looked at you and I didn’t see <em>you,</em> just where I had come from. All the men that I had known.</p>
<p>“But then I saw you on the First.” She rubs her thumb over the smooth ridge of his knuckles, commits the landscape of his skin to memory. “And I think I finally understood why.”</p>
<p>His breath catches, but miraculously he still manages to ask, “Why is that?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re a good man, Raha,” she says, holding onto his hand as if she fears he’ll turn his back on her once again; all for the sake of lofty ideals and a romanticized concept of serving the greater good. “Because you can see humanity at its lowest and still be steadfast in your belief that it’s deserving of salvation. Because you were able to look at me and see who I could be, rather than who I was.”</p>
<p>“It was what I always wanted myself,” G’raha admits. He gently brushes her fringe out of her eyes, takes in the rich amber hue of them that is so reminiscent of the stone she now carries with her. “It would have felt wrong, not to show you that courtesy.”</p>
<p>“I just wish I had realized it sooner,” she laments. She pulls her jacket tighter around her small frame; sheltering against more than just the breeze that flows over from Midgardsormr’s domain, he imagines. “I came here after Haurchefant was killed. There’s something about holding a dying man and knowing you never really showed him what his kindness meant to you. It gets you thinking about everything else that you let slip by.”</p>
<p>She picks up a handful of dirt and lets the fine particles sift through her fingers. “I always felt so…hollow, when I thought back to what you did. And it wasn’t until then that I figured it out.</p>
<p>“I never apologized.” She reorients herself so she’s facing him, her backdrop the illuminating glow of the pale blue crystals jutting defiantly from the rockface. “For not showing you the kindness you deserved until it was too late. And I had accepted that it was a regret I would have to carry for the rest of my life. Just like with Haurchefant.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to torture yourself like that, Lyhia,” G’raha murmurs, but he knows from experience that self-forgiveness can be an agonizingly elusive thing. </p>
<p>He recalls a conversation they’d had outside the Dossal Gate shortly after her arrival on the First. </p>
<p>
  <em>Then, G’raha Tia is…</em>
</p>
<p>He’d played the part of a fool, dismissing her inquiry with feigned ignorance, and in doing so had crushed any hopes of easing her burdened conscience. Who is he, then, to preach about forgiveness, when he had been prepared to carry her guilt with him to the grave?</p>
<p>“Turn around?” she asks suddenly, and he’s never seen her look quite so unsure of herself. “I have some things I need to say and I’m worried I’ll lose my nerve.”</p>
<p>G’raha hesitates for a moment — does he truly cause her courage to waver, when he wants nothing more than to bolster it the way she has for him? — but accepts her request with a nod. </p>
<p>He turns his back to her, and after a moment he feels her arms wind around his waist and her cheek press against him between the shoulder blades. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “For being cold when you were kind. That it took a literal Calamity for me to finally see you for you. To appreciate that the world would be a better place if more of us were like you.”</p>
<p>A dozen assurances are poised and ready on his tongue. He swallows them, knowing that what she needs right now is for him to just listen.</p>
<p>“You inspire me. I look at you and I see the good that can thrive even in the face of cruelty. You make me want to be the best version of myself, and I know I need to start by not letting myself leave things unsaid.”</p>
<p>G’raha covers her hands with his own; an unspoken promise, that he will never again slip through her grasp and be yet another cross for her to bear.</p>
<p>“I’m pregnant, Raha,” she whispers, a confession so quiet that it could have easily been lost among the lapping of the waves. </p>
<p>Time has always been a fickle thing for him, a man simultaneously torn between the legacy of a fallen empire and a drive to create a better future than any it could have imagined; a man who finds himself straddling the line between centuries lost in slumber and decades gained through feeding pieces of himself to an ageless entity. </p>
<p>In that moment, time is no less paradoxical. Too quickly he hears her breathing go still as she anxiously anticipates a response, and yet the world around him seems to have slowed to a crawl. His mind races, and yet his hands feel sluggish as they attempt to brace against his stream of consciousness, to bring some semblance of order to all the noise.</p>
<p>Pregnant. The woman he loves, who in that moment is clinging to him like the vestige of stability in a brewing storm, is with child. <em>His</em> child. He lets the thought linger, watches as it takes root and blooms before his mind’s eye; a focal point that guides him home, like the distant chime of bells or the piercing illumination of a lighthouse. </p>
<p>Her grip on him starts to loosen. He tightens his hold before she can run.</p>
<p>“Lyhia, please let me look at you.”</p>
<p>Tousled red hair and eyes the color of vivid citrine. Tiny hands clinging to his fingers, nonsensical babbles and restless feet, the scent of her on olive skin that had been nestled against her breast.</p>
<p>She holds him tighter, defiant. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.”</p>
<p>“Lyhia,” G’raha repeats, more insistent, “please.”</p>
<p>Her arms slowly unwind, giving him the freedom to turn around and take in the sight of her. </p>
<p>To most, she’s larger than life, more of an ideal than a human that’s just as fallible as the rest. Very few have the privilege of seeing her as he does now: curled up like a lost child seeking the comfort and solace of an estranged mother. </p>
<p>All he can do is try and fill that void with a love of his own. He reaches out and brushes her mussed hair out of her eyes, inviting her to see him in the same way: a man who is still grappling with the concept of living on something other than borrowed time, who is saddled with the weight of a guilt that he will carry until his final days.</p>
<p>“Do you remember what I told you that night?” he murmurs. He takes her hand, unfurls her palm and drapes his own on top of it. “We’re a team. That is my unconditional promise to you.”</p>
<p>She exhales, and he likes to think that she’s dispelling whatever doubts had caused her to keep silent; letting them be swallowed up by the aetherial tempest coursing through the crystalline walls. “I didn’t think I could, Raha. I’d given up on — we didn’t plan it, and you just got your life back, I didn’t… I wasn’t sure if you would want...”</p>
<p>“Look at me, Lyhia,” he pleads, and he would not hesitate to prostrate himself before her if that is what it would take to have her accept him and the assurances that come tumbling from his lips. “I would consider it nothing short of a blessing to spend the rest of this life by your side. That we would be able to do so with a child, I —“</p>
<p>It’s his turn to cry, though he finds no shame in it. He does not stubbornly wipe his eyes with the tattered sleeve of a robe, or hide behind the grand parting words of a dying man who had long ago consigned himself to oblivion. G’raha lets his tears flow freely as he holds her, peppers her cheeks with kisses and indulgently caresses just below her navel an unspoken devotion to her and the life she now carries.</p>
<p>“What are you thinking?” he asks.</p>
<p>She lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a choked sob. “That I love you, G’raha Tia.”</p>
<p>He strokes her hair as she rests her head against his chest, and wills her to feel the reverence in his words. “I love you, Lyhia. And I’ll love any child that we’ve made. But know that I would have been more than happy spending my life with you alone. Please don’t ever doubt that.”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” she says, prying her face from the safety of his chest. She meets his gaze with a newfound fire in her own, and it’s a different strength than the kind that was written about in the ballads that sung praises of her triumph; but one that he finds all the more admirable because of it. “You’ve never given me any reason to doubt you, Raha.”</p>
<p>She places a kiss on his cheekbone, wipes away a stray tear with her thumb. “We’re having a baby,” she says quietly, as if afraid that even the gods might overhear them.</p>
<p>“We’re having a baby,” G’raha echoes, undoing her work with fresh tears. He grins, knowing he must look like an absolute mess in that moment, and knowing there is no one else he would rather allow to see him in such a state. “Lyhia, we’re going to be parents.”</p>
<p>He hadn’t thought much of it when he had tied his hopes and dreams to a slip of paper on a tree. Seeing her smile now, as she tests that sentiment with her own words, he feels compelled to thank whichever deity had taken his wish and given it form.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you're wondering what happened to the game plot Zenos and Fandaniel are in Miami idk it's a babyfic</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're interested in joining a nice and supportive community of writers, please check out <a href="https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic">Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>